tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88276638456029796132017-07-30T02:14:03.831-06:00The Life of a Golf MonsterThe true confessions of a hard rocking, hard living, golf pro from hell! Nickas spins his rowdy yarns of his life on the road less traveled, an occasional commentary and some other goofy stuff!Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-35297944692185444212017-03-01T00:48:00.000-07:002017-03-01T00:48:42.858-07:00Sorting Through The Past: Spring CleaningThree years ago, pretty much right around this time of the year, I got a call from my Pops. "Mike, I need you and your sister to come down and give me a hand with a project as soon as you've got a free weekend." Well, it just so happened that I had a free weekend, and so did Christa, so down to the hometown we ventured. As soon as we walked in, the old man sprung his project on us. We were going to go through the entire house and more specifically all of our stuff that was still down there, old toys, old clothes, sporting equipment books and what was known as by old friend, former NFL player Chuck Ferraro who owned the legendary Thirdhand Shoppe antique store in Price, Junque. In a word, stuff. We acquired too much of it over the years and a 1600 square foot house chock full of it was too much for one old guy contemplating retirement to have to deal with. Plus, the old homestead needed some work, new carpets, paint, and other assorted projects and our unorganized clutter was definitely in the way and taking up way too much room.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-39aalno5NBE/WLZU9uVWZJI/AAAAAAAAAPA/AQeBl9zqOaoHXJpwyBMuIzRJrulAfe_RwCLcB/s1600/The%2BHouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-39aalno5NBE/WLZU9uVWZJI/AAAAAAAAAPA/AQeBl9zqOaoHXJpwyBMuIzRJrulAfe_RwCLcB/s200/The%2BHouse.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stately Nickas Manor!</td></tr></tbody></table>&nbsp;"Keep what you want, but find a place that makes sense for it, or take it with you," he said.&nbsp;<div><br /></div><div>Now, granted there's a lot of that nature vs. nurture battle involved, but I firmly believe that there's such thing as a "hoarder gene." And while it never got to the point where she needed a television show to come in and clean up her house, my Grandmother up in Alaska definitely fostered something like it. I can't really blame her though, she grew up in Oklahoma and Texas during the Great Depression. When you don't have anything, you don't throw anything that can be of use away. And once her and my Pappy established themselves and had some space, that never really left her. It was a sad occasion, but one of my favorite stories concerns the day right after her funeral ten years ago. My mom, Aunt Amy, Uncle Didier, Aunt LaJuana, quite a few of my cousins, my sister and I were all gathered in her frozen house in Anchorage. On the TV were some old home movies, I believe showcasing my mother's sixth birthday. At that moment, we were also going through my Bamma's beautiful antique buffet cabinet. We found a pack of paper party plates buried deep in one of the drawers. The exact same package of party plates that were sitting on the table in the home movie that was shot 46 years prior! I also found some expired food in the pantry that I'd bought to cook my Bamma a meal the last time I'd been to Alaska to visit, six years previously.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FztDdN8QyMI/WLZfxuo-EUI/AAAAAAAAAPc/ceSR-pgSp00mcoVvQ4BRv5scsUAwpiJkACLcB/s1600/tp.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FztDdN8QyMI/WLZfxuo-EUI/AAAAAAAAAPc/ceSR-pgSp00mcoVvQ4BRv5scsUAwpiJkACLcB/s200/tp.JPG" width="188" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makin' a mess since 1978!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>So yeah, I kind of understand the hoarder gene. And even though I'm fully aware of it now, I carried a lot of those same tendencies over the years. When I finally got my own bedroom in the house at age 7, the organization of my room tended to range from "random piles of stuff with a path to the bed, closet and dresser" to "just pulled the pin, tossed a grenade in and shut the door" with occasional periods of relative organization when buddies or that cute girl would come over to hang out. Those didn't happen very often. Thankfully, the adulthood gene overrode the clutter during the "<a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/search/label/Room%20302" target="_blank">Dorm Days</a>." And by "adulthood" I mean that I was going to be living with and around strangers now and I don't want them to think I was slovenly in other areas of life as well. But, and you can ask anyone I roomed with in college, I was definitely kind of a packrat, taking basically everything I could with me to school. Only this time, I kept it organized. My dorm room was still the equivalent of cramming twenty pounds of shit into a ten pound bag. But hey, you never knew when you might need that thing. Whatever that thing happened to be even if it happened to be a copy of the Dirty Looks album "Blow My Fuse" on CD.</div><div><br /></div><div>In 2007, after living in each of Westminster's "Apartment-Style" dorms and several different apartments and houses, I moved into my smallest place yet, a tiny little condo adjacent to the University of Utah campus. It was great to be able to get from bed to work at the <a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20UGC" target="_blank">UGC</a> in about ten minutes flat, but the size of the place really forced me to downsize my life. A storage unit was my friend! And I either outright shitcanned or donated a metric ton of stuff. It felt pretty good, and I was able to sort of boil things down to the essentials. Which is to say, I still had way too much shit.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMELtviHeVk/WLZvNvnf_oI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ja64-QRaY20clgLj-0xy1mJZD_w3OY1wACLcB/s1600/Cash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RMELtviHeVk/WLZvNvnf_oI/AAAAAAAAAQM/ja64-QRaY20clgLj-0xy1mJZD_w3OY1wACLcB/s200/Cash.jpg" width="147" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still lost to time...</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Anyway, back to my Pop's house, February 2013. We dive in to the old family room, which at one point was converted to a bedroom for the ten minutes my older sister came to live with us years ago, and has since become kind of a storage catch-all. It was an added-on room with no heat which is to say, we were indoors, bundled up, freezing our asses off and hard at work tearing through years of clutter. I had two things that I really wanted to find. One was the only poster I had on my wall when I was a really little kid. My dad was a trucker, along with my grandpa they owned their own trucking company and they'd always get sent these badass promotional posters from Peterbilt. Usually they featured some half-naked lady looking like the apocalypse just hit (picture the KISS, "Lick It Up" video) draped across the engine cover of a semi. But this poster I had just had the front of a truck with Johnny Cash standing next to it and the words "MIDNIGHT SPECIAL" emblazoned across the bottom. OUTLAW COUNTRY! The other, and this is pretty dumb, was a picture of me that my entire second-grade class drew of me and signed on my birthday. I always loved second-grade because that was the first time certain synapses finally clicked together in my brain and I started to learn to think critically. Sadly, the drinking I did during the Dorm Days destroyed the brain cells that helped me to remember names of classmates from that far back and I've often wondered what we've all grown up to be.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-623bM0yQaJ0/WLZqJ7QMQXI/AAAAAAAAAP0/AoT92sY3-bwBxyu1PKsz_q42GEorbG1fQCLcB/s1600/FirstPayStub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-623bM0yQaJ0/WLZqJ7QMQXI/AAAAAAAAAP0/AoT92sY3-bwBxyu1PKsz_q42GEorbG1fQCLcB/s200/FirstPayStub.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes ladies, I'm single!</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I came across some great stuff. My very first paycheck stub in the golf business (a career now going on 22 years!) for $54.19 pre-tax! Thank god I make more now. Wait, what is that? Inflation? Shit. An unusually large collection of old mixtapes. If only I still had something to play them on. And what the hell am I doing putting Ministry and Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons on the same mixtape anyway? At least they weren't 8-tracks. Those were in my dad's box.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also found several boxes full of old notebooks from high school and college classes. I flipped through them and found all of my old class notes, and quite a bit of my old writing. While perusing these tomes, the only thing I could think of was, "Jesus Christ Nickas, if any of your teachers and professors ever saw an example of your note-taking, there's no chance any of them would have ever passed you." Goddamn, you could even see exactly the spots where I'd doze off (probably hungover) in class because suddenly my already shitty handwriting would get smaller and smaller and just end up with a line. My writing projects weren't much better! Hell, you're reading this right now, imagine how bad it was before I ever developed a style and a voice?! I barely have that now! I would've killed it though for my heavy metal band, Superman, <a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/search/label/Chicago%20Bears%20Football" target="_blank">Chicago Bears</a> and New York Yankees logo drawing talents. I had that shit on lockdown. It was all garbage, and I couldn't believe I had saved any of it. Into the back of my Pop's Dodge truck they went.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TdtDO1gtqFs/WLZvNgG9-xI/AAAAAAAAAQY/BgtbIHjxf28C2i43LxxHJedl31WtBPlDwCEw/s1600/SecondPlace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TdtDO1gtqFs/WLZvNgG9-xI/AAAAAAAAAQY/BgtbIHjxf28C2i43LxxHJedl31WtBPlDwCEw/s200/SecondPlace.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1st Place in the 3-Legged Race: John Holmes</td></tr></tbody></table><div>For all the laughs I was having, my sister was having a tough time with this. I had a pretty good idea that we were going to be doing this before we left Salt Lake. All this going through old shit. And I guess she kind of felt blindsided. She wasn't ready to do this yet, but she did it anyway, and I knew it was bothering her. In my dad's always gentle way, he explained that it would be "best to do this now and not after he was gone. If for no other reason that at least there's three of us." I didn't really want to hear that either, but it makes sense and it had to be done. We eventually finished the weekend putting a pretty sizeable dent in that storage room and the basement. I was proud of her. As Christa and I drove back up to Salt Lake, I got a call from our landlord. This was never a good sign, bad news was afoot, because for the third place we'd lived in a row, they had decided to sell the place. We were going to have to move again.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nuoOm8gFNgM/WLZvNmJbPdI/AAAAAAAAAQY/Bk8T9V3nm6Emem0T09eadahhsGbOqCisgCEw/s1600/HeMan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nuoOm8gFNgM/WLZvNmJbPdI/AAAAAAAAAQY/Bk8T9V3nm6Emem0T09eadahhsGbOqCisgCEw/s200/HeMan.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lawrence Taylor obviously took a run at <br />Quarterback He-Man's Knees</td></tr></tbody></table><div>A week later, we still had snow on the ground out at Rose Park (JUST LIKE NOW!) so I trekked solo back down to Price to finish the job, or come close to it. More un-needed treasure ventured back into my life in a flood. Old toys, ribbons and awards from as far back as my elementary school days, broken model cars, board games missing pieces, more shitty writing, bags of clothes and shoes. Memories of times past, good and bad, optomism and wasted potential passed across the table. And almost all of it ended up in the trash or donate pile. Ebay would've been an option if any of it was in any kind of decent condition, but years of neglect had taken its toll. At least some of the toys could still be of use to kids, and since that ship has clearly sailed in my case we donated them to the <a href="https://www.carbon.utah.gov/Services/Family-Support-CJC" target="_blank">Children's Justice Center</a>. Hopefully some of my old shit gave them some enjoyment, god knows, they needed it a lot more than I did. I hope it did some good.</div><div><br /></div><div>I never did find either of my "holy grails." Those were lost to either time, my folk's divorce, or a forgotten previous attempt to do the very thing we had just done. But by the end of the weekend, my dad finally had a handle on things around his house and I had downsized most of my old stuff in a major way. As weird as it sounds, it was totally cathartic. The whole process was liberating. You'd find something, hold it in your hands, think a little about a memory of it, have a little flashback, and finally say goodbye. Driving back up "over the hill" to Salt Lick that Sunday night, I actually felt great. Like I'd finally cut the cord to the type person that I used to be and ready to embrace whatever the future was going to throw at me and be adaptable to whatever curve-ball life could throw at me.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />Epilogue: We decided that last move was going to be the last one for awhile. So we bought a house. Now I've got a ton of space that I can't wait to fill with stuff!</div><div><br /></div><div>Epilogue II: Only kidding.</div><div><br /></div><div>Epilogue III: Mostly, I guess...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mike Nickashttps://plus.google.com/107112942171647323414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-27977994677987758502016-11-29T22:57:00.000-07:002016-11-29T22:57:06.020-07:00Tales From The UGC Part 1: The Commute<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qhQCx6Lulwk/WD5RN0mzbhI/AAAAAAAAAL8/5r1vAPBq-fc8-5YnC4DbHuKUhlRSGoNSACLcB/s1600/trump.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qhQCx6Lulwk/WD5RN0mzbhI/AAAAAAAAAL8/5r1vAPBq-fc8-5YnC4DbHuKUhlRSGoNSACLcB/s200/trump.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I might be possibly indirectly<br />&nbsp;responsible for THIS GUY</td></tr></tbody></table>Good god! Seems like it's been a hundred years since I've put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard so to speak in service of entertaining you, my dear readers, who if my usage stats are to be believed are mostly from behind the former Iron Curtain. Hello Russia! Anyway, Winter is setting in, which means I might have a little time on my hands, so like I've said at least ten times in the past, I'm planning on getting a little more frequent with my posts, because I feel like I've got a few things to say. Now, before I get started, I just want to say, I appreciate you guys' support over the years. I recently undertook a major lifestyle change. No, not that kind of lifestyle change (not that there's anything wrong with that) but I can promise you, this blog won't turn into one of those "My Journey" type of deals. Yeah, I might dedicate one post to that when I'm done, but that's it. I'd much rather just spin some hopefully entertaining tales from this crazy life I've led.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QppJubb6Ut0/WD5U5U0QZ-I/AAAAAAAAAMM/jx85jZJ1u-ogiiWXUkvW4fB8MHRc22nCQCLcB/s1600/UGC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QppJubb6Ut0/WD5U5U0QZ-I/AAAAAAAAAMM/jx85jZJ1u-ogiiWXUkvW4fB8MHRc22nCQCLcB/s200/UGC.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mighty UGC! No longer exists!</td></tr></tbody></table>That leads us to today's story. It's kind of a quick one. I worked for seven and a half years at the University of Utah on what used to be a little nine-hole executive-style golf course, right in the middle of campus. I started out as a guest instructor for some junior camps in 2003, and by the time the powers that be decided to drop a building on top of us and shut us down in 2009, I'd worked my way into being the last ever Head Professional of the UGC and pretty much the last man standing. They were some of the best times in my life with friends I still have today and the stories I have are innumerable, so much like my "Dorm Days" series. today will be the first post in an occasional series I'd like to call, "Tales From The UGC."<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"The Commute"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-llC667JLbOU/WD5a8vxQbsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/_d7nV3Y-jJgu5hs12TT_dmFmOt3lUcs2wCLcB/s1600/slc-library-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-llC667JLbOU/WD5a8vxQbsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/_d7nV3Y-jJgu5hs12TT_dmFmOt3lUcs2wCLcB/s200/slc-library-3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fine place for vagrants to&nbsp;read newspapers on <br />a rattan cane and masturbate to Internet porn!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;">Not long after I was hired at the UGC, my beloved giant 1982 Chevy Blazer, affectionately known to my high school buddies as "Sweet Ride" partially exploded on me during a trip to my hometown to see my buddy Rat for a haircut. That truck was legendary, especially during the "Dorm Days" as the most reliable way for my roommates and I in room 302 to get around, safely and in style. There was no mistaking who was pulling up when it's diesel-ly growl approached. But she'd finally given up the ghost and since I had about $500 to my name at any one time (THE LIFE OF A GOLF PRO, SO GLAMOROUS!) my options for getting to and from work (and really anywhere else) were limited to public transportation. Thankfully, I lived in a not-so-horrible condo about a block and a half from the Salt Lake City Library and the light rail station adjacent to it. Riding the TRAX train every day to work was amazingly convenient (No gas! A drop off right next to our 5th hole! A semi-convenient schedule!) and provided me with endless people watching opportunities.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">One early Fall day I boarded a train for my normal afternoon shift. There were about seven stops between the library and my drop-off point on our 5th Fairway. The car was about half full as I thankfully rarely had to commute during the busy parts of the day. I popped in the ear buds, cranked up a little "Heartbreak Boulevard" by Shotgun Messiah and settled in for the fifteen minute ride.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Two stops in a guy boards the train and sits in the seat across the aisle from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell he bore striking similarity in appearance to a certain long-time Carbon High School football coach, who in turn was the spitting image of long-time WWF wrassler, former Governor of Minnesota and current underground bunker-resident Jesse "The Body" Ventura. As a matter of fact, I thought it actually WAS Coach, so rather than just staring out the window, like I usually did, I actually popped the ear buds out when he motioned towards me that he wanted to say something.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Hey man, lot of pretty girls on this train."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Well yeah, it's kind of the main artery up to the University," I said, a little apprehensively.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, the State is making me take a bunch of classes up there, so I can get out of the halfway house. You grow up around here, man?" He asked.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Naw man, a few hours south of here. A little town on the high desert called Price. How about you?"</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5un1M-q3nW8/WD5lHjUKlaI/AAAAAAAAAMs/o8UV7waCGzkX46Bo5H7tYw67L4ww1iWwgCLcB/s1600/Jesse%2BVentura%2B6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5un1M-q3nW8/WD5lHjUKlaI/AAAAAAAAAMs/o8UV7waCGzkX46Bo5H7tYw67L4ww1iWwgCLcB/s200/Jesse%2BVentura%2B6.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can trust me to get you<br />&nbsp;the good shit, Gorilla!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Kansas City, had to split town though. A few hombres were bringing the heat down on me," his eyes starting to dart back and forth, "I've been to Price. Got busted down there, a couple years ago."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here we go, a good story, maybe! "What did they nail you on?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Dealing Crank. The market down there is goddamn great these days!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah, that's what I hear." The economy was tanking in the early 2000's, and my hometown's drug issues were getting pretty gnarly. But his comment was making me wonder if there was a magazine like <i>Investor's Business Daily</i> for the drug trade.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"We were making money hand-over-fist! Then one day, a new guy started hanging around. Goddamn narcs. Next thing you know, I'm in County getting hosed down and they were breaking out the rubber gloves." He said grinning, way too matter of factly for my comfort level.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Well, at least it seems like you're getting your shit together man. They eventually let you out." This dude might be Heisenberg.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QoxXJNV1iA/WD5o0Q7NJkI/AAAAAAAAAM4/wi1yOBHJAFk3CwxqboFZMQ4osp6TQN3RACLcB/s1600/trax.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0QoxXJNV1iA/WD5o0Q7NJkI/AAAAAAAAAM4/wi1yOBHJAFk3CwxqboFZMQ4osp6TQN3RACLcB/s200/trax.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to jump a fence, to get to work,<br />&nbsp;but damn it was convenient!</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Yeah man. These classes have been great for getting some new connections! You guys are sitting on a gold mine up here."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I just kind of gave it a snicker. Time to pull the plug on this conversation. "Good luck to ya, pal."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He nodded and grinned, "Lot of pretty girls on this train."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I punched the button and jumped off the train a couple stops early. Hiking clear across campus to the clubhouse. It was already a weird day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mike Nickashttps://plus.google.com/107112942171647323414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-30232308903583556962014-12-31T23:43:00.000-07:002015-01-02T18:02:32.139-07:00We say "so long" to 2014 as I put an old project to bed for good...Hey folks!&nbsp; It's been awhile!&nbsp; I didn't want to go an entire calendar year without a post, so here's the Golf Monster's 2014 post of the year! I can't promise more for 2015, but figure on seeing a little more activity on here.<br /><br />Anyway, I just wanted to share with you a few videos I've edited down over the years.&nbsp; Way back in 1986, some folks in Maryland hauled a camcorder out to a Judas Priest and Dokken show.&nbsp; Their fifteen minute short "Heavy Metal Parking Lot" made the rounds in tape trading circles for years until the beauty of YouTube brought it to a wide audience. <br /><br />Flash forward fifteen years to 2001, several stars of my old <a href="http://www.thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/search/label/Dorm%20Days?updated-max=2009-04-08T23:54:00-06:00&amp;max-results=20&amp;start=4&amp;by-date=false" target="_blank">"Dorm Days: The Penthouse Chronicles" </a>stories, VodkaRob, Jose', Crazy Pete and I scored tickets to the AC/DC concert here in Salt Lick.&nbsp; It was a momentous occasion, in that they hadn't been to Salt Lake for SEVEN whole years after a kid got trampled in their previous appearance. We honestly thought they'd never be back again!&nbsp; That being said, as of tonight it's been almost 14 goddamn years since they've been back, but I digress.&nbsp; One thing I never tire of is hearing dudes yell "FUCK YEAH" and ladies scream "WOOOOOO" so we "borrowed" a camera from the info-tech department and decided to document this tremendous occasion.&nbsp; Keep in mind, we were horrible people in college at the time.&nbsp; But here is that first video we made:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/WauGg6CvJRg?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br />Several years later, we attempted the same thing at a Motley Crue show.&nbsp; Unfortunately, the venue's parking services had VodkaRob, Jose' and I park roughly ten goddamn miles from the venue.&nbsp; So instead we shot an ode to our favorite beer at the time, Pabst Blue Ribbon.&nbsp; "Why Pabst?" you may ask.&nbsp; Because it won a goddamn Blue Ribbon.&nbsp; Never mind it was 120 years ago.&nbsp; It still won the goddamn Blue Ribbon!&nbsp; Not our finest effort, but hey, we were half-drunk at the time.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1NSM8nCMXvc?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br />Terrible right?&nbsp; Anyway, we hung up the camera for several years until I decided to drag it out one night with my old pal Little Nick's little brother Chris.&nbsp; He and I attended Ozzy Osbourne's first show here in Salt Lick in many moons.&nbsp; Because, again, random dudes yelling "FUCK YEAH" and ladies "WOOOOO"-ing before damn near getting hit by a car is the highest of the high comedy.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="https://ytimg.googleusercontent.com/vi/So8q_v3msTw/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/So8q_v3msTw&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="https://youtube.googleapis.com/v/So8q_v3msTw&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>Better.&nbsp; My editing skills, while still highly suspect got a little better that go-around, and found quite a few highly inebriated folks to participate.&nbsp; The relative success of Ozzy/Zombie Parking Lot (1900 views and counting!&nbsp; <a href="http://youtu.be/QrGrOK8oZG8" target="_blank">Look out Too Many Cooks!</a>), gave us the bug to go hair farming again, leading to what I consider our magnum opus.&nbsp; Poison Parking Lot, shown in two parts because YouTube used to have a ten-minute time-limit on uploads.&nbsp; People love showing off for the camera.&nbsp; What they're showing off, I have no idea, but I'll be damned if we didn't have a good time making these. <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/XY5yp4vtUCs?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CD2TEhh62hY?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /><br />&nbsp;&nbsp; <br />After VodkaRob, Jose' and I shot these, we actually registered the utahconcertfilms.com domain name, and formed an LLC that this blog was originally going to be a part of called Monkey With A Crayon.&nbsp; Unfortunately (not really), we all kinda had to grow up a little bit. Work got in the way, a few of the guys started families, and UtahConcertFilms and Monkey With A Crayon as a concept faded into the background and eventually fizzled completely.&nbsp; Or did it?&nbsp; Stay tuned....<br /><br />Here's to letting the good times roll in 2015!&nbsp; Mike Nickashttps://plus.google.com/107112942171647323414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-47964745216155601772013-12-09T23:05:00.002-07:002013-12-09T23:06:24.464-07:00The Chicago Bears on Monday Night Football - Live Blog!Hey, it's been awhile.&nbsp; But there's snow on the ground, not a lot of people are hitting little white balls with sticks, so you know what that means...The return of the 'Monster! Tonight a special insight as to what happens on the odd occasion that my beloved Chicago Bears are featured on TV here in Salt Lick, and a Monday Night Football game to boot, with a backup quarterback no less, on a completely frozen Soldier Field! DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNNNNNNNN! This entry won't be everybody's cup of tea, or you might surprise yourself and enjoy it, but here's a (not really) minute by minute rundown of the fan experience...from my couch.&nbsp; You know how big a fanatic I can be about the Bears from my previous post <a href="http://www.thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/2013/01/an-exercise-in-self-flagellation.html" target="_blank"><i>An Exercise in Self-Flagellation</i></a>, so I hope you enjoy it. Will my liver survive? Well, if this doesn't show up in my feed by 10:30 tonight, I'm probably roaming the streets! Here we go!<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVKEffCMlqg/Uqai_ofJxCI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/T5imEAdeucs/s1600/TheLounge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YVKEffCMlqg/Uqai_ofJxCI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/T5imEAdeucs/s320/TheLounge.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lounge at Casa de Nickas</td></tr></tbody></table>6:38 PM:&nbsp; We're live from the lounge at Casa de Nickas! Beverages this evening, Shiner Bock in my official Chicago Bears beer coozie, and in case things go horribly south, Gentleman Jack!&nbsp; On commentary tonight, alleged lecher Mike Tirico, Drunken Jon Gruden, and Lisa Salters as random sideline reporter lady. <br /><br /><br />6:40 PM:&nbsp; It's Mike Ditka Night at Soldier field. Outside of his ESPN gig, I hear he's kind of hard up for cash. He'll shill for anything for a buck - MIKE DITKA'S LUBRICATED CATHETERS!&nbsp; AFFORDABLE AND DISCREET!<br /><br />6:45 PM:&nbsp; The Bears run defense is maybe as bad I've ever seen it.&nbsp; Expect a not-too-uncalled-for excessive amount of bitching about this tonight.<br /><br />6:48 PM:&nbsp; Dallas marched down the field on our seive like defense. Time for a shot of Gentleman Jack!<br /><br />6:52 PM:&nbsp; Devin Hester back for a return. He <a href="http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/wild/big-cat-week/episodes/man-v-cheetah/" target="_blank">outran a cheetah</a> on this special I watched on National Geographic the other night, but he hasn't been able to outrun an overweight special teams player for about three years.<br /><br />6:58 PM:&nbsp; ESPN analyst Jon Gruden sounds absolutely HAMMERED tonight. I'm sure there will be some some drunken Gruden commentary tonight as well.<br /><br />7:02 PM:&nbsp; I love the guy, but Matt Forte needs to officially change his name to "Matt Forte Limps Off The Field."<br /><br />7:03 PM:&nbsp; TOUCHDOWN BEARS!&nbsp; EAT SHIT DALLAS!<br /><br />7:05 PM:&nbsp; There's an extended ad for the new Hobbit movie.&nbsp; WAY TO KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE ESPN!<br /><br />7:11 PM:&nbsp; End of the 1st quarter: Chicago 7, Dallas 7. <br /><br />7:14 PM:&nbsp; Holy shit the Bears actually stopped somebody!<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K08TKqFILpE/UqajARsbVUI/AAAAAAAAAOM/HOPo8ZdAzuQ/s1600/YourAuthor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K08TKqFILpE/UqajARsbVUI/AAAAAAAAAOM/HOPo8ZdAzuQ/s320/YourAuthor.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Believe it or not, I've lost some weight. Pathetic!</td></tr></tbody></table>7:17 PM:&nbsp; This whole 'the Bears have a somewhat competent passing game" thing is really pretty neat!&nbsp; Almost like a real NFL team!<br /><br />7:21 PM:&nbsp; Tonight's meal, a baked potato minus the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTiEQB67HOs" target="_blank">FEEEIXINS</a> because my chubby ass is trying damn hard not to be so chubby anymoWHOOOAAA TOUCHDOWN BEARS!!&nbsp; I'm used to the defense scoring everything.<br /><br />7:28 PM:&nbsp; Most accurate portrayal of a historical figure:&nbsp; Tom Hanks as Walt Disney, or Ben Walker as Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter? <br /><br />7:29 PM:&nbsp; Water freezes when it gets cold?&nbsp; WEIRD!<br /><br />7:33 PM:&nbsp; TIRICO:&nbsp; Lisa, what's the cold doing to the players down on the sidelines?<br />LISA SALTERS:&nbsp; Shrinking their penises Mike.<br />TIRICO:&nbsp; Thank you Lisa. What are you doing after the game? <br /><br />7:35 PM:&nbsp; Touchdown Dallas.&nbsp; The Bears defense couldn't cover George Thorogood's Bad To The Bone.&nbsp; In case you were wondering, this game features the NFL's 29th and 32nd ranked defenses.<br /><br />7:38 PM:&nbsp; GRUDEN:&nbsp; THIS BEARS DEFENSE, I CALL THEM THE REBEL ALLIANCE, BECAUSE IT’S COLD AS SHIT AND THEY’RE GETTING SHREDDED BY THE EVIL EMPIRE<br /><br />7:54 PM:&nbsp; Is Axe the new Drakkar Noir?<br /><br />7:56 PM:&nbsp; I really hope Lisa Salters interviews Julius Peppers after the game.&nbsp; I also think the two beers and two shots of whiskey just kicked in.<br /><br />7:58 PM:&nbsp; I can't remember the last time the Bears had all three timeouts with a minute to go in a half!&nbsp; I don't think they know how to run a 2-minute drill under these conditions!<br /><br />8:01 PM:&nbsp; HOLEEE JESUS! Touchdown Bears on a flat out ridiculous pass to meastly receiver Alshon Jeffrey! <br /><br />8:04 PM:&nbsp; Halftime Chicago 24, Dallas 14.&nbsp; I felt a great disturbance in the Force, like millions of people were buzzed, and their buzzes were suddenly killed by Chris Fucking Berman.<br /><div class="comment-body"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qr3iEl4y254/UPUQbeQRuWI/AAAAAAAAAHg/csnXmzTvn0w/s1600/0101wf8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qr3iEl4y254/UPUQbeQRuWI/AAAAAAAAAHg/csnXmzTvn0w/s320/0101wf8.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because I needed another excuse to post this.</td></tr></tbody></table>8:11 PM:&nbsp; Today we honor Coach Mike Ditka...as he freezes to death on live television.&nbsp; Seriously, I know he's kind of turned into a doddering, right-wing nutcase these days, but man, back in the 80's he was like a third grandpa to me. When he got fired from the job as the Bears coach, I remember exactly where I was when it happened and I had a damn tough time taking my hunter's safety test that night.<br /><br />8:14 PM:&nbsp; DITKA:&nbsp; GO BEARS!!! (I just ran through a brick wall. Whiskey may as well be PCP.&nbsp; NO PAIN!)<br /><br />8:21 PM:&nbsp; The second half begins and Mike Tirico looks like he's dressed as an undercover cop.<br /><br />8:28 PM:&nbsp; Field Goal Chicago, 27-14 Bears. &nbsp; Fun Fact:&nbsp; Christmastime would be 1000% better without Christmas car commercials. You feel like a fuckup in life if you neither give nor receive a car with a bow on it.<br /><br />8:38 PM:&nbsp; <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0993846/" target="_blank"><i>The Wolf of Wall Street</i></a>: because that dude from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0264464/?ref_=nm_flmg_act_12" target="_blank"><i>Catch Me If You Can</i></a> had a cellmate with a story, too.<br /><br />8:42 PM:&nbsp; Easy with the throwing into triple coverage McCown! I'm not quite buzzed yet!<br /><br />8:45 PM:&nbsp; EMMIT SMITH:&nbsp; "The Bears are doin' nice job of masturbatin' the ball down the feel."<br /><br />8:46 PM:&nbsp; Holy shit TOUCHDOWN BEARS!&nbsp; They're now up 35-14 and looking entirely too competent tonight.&nbsp; The whiskey is about to be replaced with a nice spring water.<br /><br />8:53 PM:&nbsp; GRUDEN:&nbsp; THIS JERRY JONES, I CALL HIM SMAUG BECAUSE HE’S OLD, GREEDY, COVERED IN SCALES, AND LOVES TO DESTROY THOSE SMALLER THAN HIM<br /><br />8:55 PM:&nbsp; The desperate Cowboys go for it on 4th and long and Tony Romo basically spikes it after the Bears bring the heat.&nbsp; He should have done what I did on my one career pass when I was a punter for the Central Price Bears in little league.&nbsp; It was a rainy October night and we were getting the shit kicked out of us as usual. I go in to punt the ball away after our ninth straight three and out. The snap went over my head by about ten feet, I ran back into the endzone to pick it up and when I turned around the entire Helper Steelers defensive line was on top of me.&nbsp; I let out a blood curdling scream that I'm sure my mortified parents could hear all the way in the top row of East Carbon High's stadium and chucked it as far as I could down field.&nbsp; Not my proudest moment as an athlete.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFyZBaZcxzw/UqajACG0vOI/AAAAAAAAAOE/G-Z23aZjwKY/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cFyZBaZcxzw/UqajACG0vOI/AAAAAAAAAOE/G-Z23aZjwKY/s320/Untitled.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know what I said, but I had to gloat a little bit.</td></tr></tbody></table>9:01 PM:&nbsp; Another BEARS TOUCHDOWN!&nbsp; 42-14!&nbsp; To Michael Bush.&nbsp; Now I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but as a fantasy football aficionado, THAT HELPS NO ONE!&nbsp; Got to say though, this is turning into a special year for me in fantasy.&nbsp; After years of toiling, I finally have a system down and it's tough to stop and I'll shut up now because NOBODY GIVES A SHIT ABOUT ANYONE'S FANTASY FOOTBALL TEAM BUT THEIR OWN!!!<br /><br />9:05 PM:&nbsp; Jennifer Lawrence...dear lord.&nbsp; That gal is a tall drink of all right.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zgeYE3HnUu8/Uqai_ih_AQI/AAAAAAAAAOA/IwRrVZw_TvE/s1600/Jerry+Jones+Stairs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zgeYE3HnUu8/Uqai_ih_AQI/AAAAAAAAAOA/IwRrVZw_TvE/s320/Jerry+Jones+Stairs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">YEEE HAW!&nbsp; I'M FUCKIN' MOROSE!</td></tr></tbody></table>9:07 PM:&nbsp; Chris Conte, the Bears godawful strong safety, has just made 4 tackles in a row.&nbsp; If you don't follow football, that's a really bad thing.<br /><br />9:09 PM:&nbsp; Touchdown Dallas:&nbsp; Way to limp to the finish Chicago. <br /><br />9:18 PM:&nbsp; JERRY JONES:&nbsp; YEE HAW!! AS LONG AS I SIT ON THESE STEPS NO ONE CAN LEAVE THIS BOOTH <br /><br /><br />9:25 PM:&nbsp; <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2609758/?ref_=nv_sr_1" target="_blank"><i>Tyler Perry's A Madea Christmas</i></a>:&nbsp; Because dignity died a long, long time ago.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xd7KD57zN7M/UqanqdyfnYI/AAAAAAAAAOY/pQvxYCRMkco/s1600/orton1_display_image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xd7KD57zN7M/UqanqdyfnYI/AAAAAAAAAOY/pQvxYCRMkco/s320/orton1_display_image.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somehow this dude got the Bears to the playoffs in '05<i><br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table>9:26 PM:&nbsp; Kyle Orton is now in for mop-up duty for Dallas.&nbsp; I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for the "Drunky QB!"<br /><br />9:34 PM:&nbsp; Dallas scores another touchdown.&nbsp; It's nice to see Orton can still exploit 3rd string defenses LIKE A CHAMPION!<br /><br />9:37 PM:&nbsp; That's the ballgame folks!&nbsp; The Bears win 45-28, actually played pretty good and I only needed 3 karma shots of whiskey and two beers tonight.&nbsp; This isn't the same Bears I've been rooting for my entire life!<br /><br />So that's all for tonight folks. This live blog thing&nbsp; might've been entertaining, it might not have.&nbsp; I don't know, I'm sure I'll hate it when I'm sober in the morning.&nbsp; Anyway, it's nice to be back and posting again.&nbsp; More in the future, including a return of my "Dorm Days" stories as well as some other stuff I've got bumping around in my head!&nbsp; HAPPY HOLIDAYS FOLKS!&nbsp; <br /><br /></div><br />Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-83954837176721430162013-02-20T01:11:00.000-07:002013-02-20T08:56:32.439-07:00Trust Me Officer, I'm A Professional...You know folks, in a lot of ways, I feel damn lucky. I've got a job doing what I love to do and a family that supports me in it, even though I would tell me I'm nuts to do it. I've also made some great friends over the years and we've shared some truly wild times. Sometimes though, they get some crazy ideas to do stuff that most normal people would scoff at. And in the name of getting a good story, I jump in with 'em. This is the tale of one of those times.<br /><br />Now, throughout the year, a bunch of Utah law enforcement guys go Danny Glover and decide that they're "too old for that shit" and retire. This means, they've got to hire a bunch of new cops, and new cops need training. And this state loves nothing more than busting people for DUI offenses, <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/03/us/lawsuit-accuses-fired-utah-trooper-of-falsifying-dui-arrests.html?_r=0" target="_blank">whether they're legitimate or not. </a>No matter whether you're a drinker or not, we can all agree, driving under the influence is pretty much the most irresponsible thing a person can do. You're literally taking the lives of hundreds of people in your idiotic hands if you get behind the wheel after you've had a few too many. The problem is though, nobody's a good enough actor to mimic all of the physical characteristics of being steaming drunk. Although, I saw a great movie starring <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0935541/?ref_=tt_ov_st" target="_blank">Mary Elizabeth Winstead</a> (RAMONA FLOWERS, SCHWING!) called<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2063781/?ref_=sr_1" target="_blank"> Smashed</a> at the indie theater a couple months ago that came pretty close, but I digress.<br /><br />Anyway, these new cops need the proper training in order to recognize the difference between somebody that's sober, somebody that's had a few too many, and somebody that literally has to grab the grass to keep from FALLING OFF THE EARTH. They also need to learn the proper procedures for conducting field sobriety tests. So once a year the State of Utah gets fifteen ordinary folks together and pays them to get completely obliterated so that they can conduct these tests on as realistic a subjects as possible.<br /><br />Now it just so happens that my old college buddy Ninja is pretty good friends with one of the police officers charged with organizing the training and he pulled a couple strings and got your humble Golf Monster on the subject list. Frankly, I was curious, this whole thing sounded way too good to be true. The State of Utah, driest state in the union, actually cuts a check for people to get blitzed? I had to find out. And it was yet another excuse to have a good time with my buddies, albeit in a clinical setting. I couldn't pass it up.&nbsp; <br /><br />I was picked up at 10:30 AM on the test day in a UHP cruiser by nice fella by the name of Trooper Marshall out in front of my condo. Couldn't pass up the chance to look like a hardass in front of my neighbors. I was told that we had to pick up a couple other guys on the way down to the State Police Academy which was located on the south end of the valley. I was curious about what was about to go on today and he replied, "We're going to get you drunk, and then run some tests." That was it. He seemed to be into the whole brevity thing. He asked me why I signed up. I told him the old me,<a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/search/label/Dorm%20Days" target="_blank"> the college me</a> would've been in it simply to get smashed and get paid. The current me was actually curious about the effects of the booze in a clinical setting and how many it would take to be legally intoxicated. I'm a big guy, I figured it would take a lot.<br /><br />A quick aside, my Grandfather, Papou as he's known in Greek, and his best friend Bill used to meet twice a week for a beer session dating all the way back to when the two of them settled back in the hometown a few years after II. Their routine was simple. Each of them would drink about one pitcher plus one bottle's worth of beer. Now here's where it's gotta be awesome to be an old guy that everybody in the county knows and is afraid to fuck with:&nbsp; After a session at a bar called The Regis in the nearby town of Helper, they got this crazy-assed idea to try an experiment. So they walked across the street to the town police station to volunteer to blow on the breathalyzer machine and see the results. The verdict:&nbsp; neither were legally drunk, but both could technically be cited for public intoxication. They thanked the officer on duty for his time, walked back across the street, got in my Papou's pickup and drove the ten minutes back home to Price. That story still blows my buddies' minds. I related that story to Trooper Marshall and he busted out laughing.&nbsp; I was finally able to break the ice with the dude.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Qub-g5M9Zc/USRfX5BxgHI/AAAAAAAAALw/ot7XQWMGJ6M/s1600/post_academy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8Qub-g5M9Zc/USRfX5BxgHI/AAAAAAAAALw/ot7XQWMGJ6M/s320/post_academy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This Fairly unassuming building houses something called the "Wet Lab"</td></tr></tbody></table>We picked the other guys up after I was able to locate their homes by using the GPS on my phone. It actually worked better than the GPS in the cruiser. Couple nice fellas named Chuck and Dave. After passing up an accident on the road, "The next guys that drive by will call it in," he said. We arrived at our destination, The POST Academy at the Salt Lake Community College south campus. We were led up four flights of stairs and down several winding hallways. "Jesus, I wonder how people can find the pisser in here?" I thought to myself as we took about a half dozen rights and lefts until we arrived at a door with a two-word engraving on the window, "WET LAB."<br /><br />I walked in and took a seat at a very large table next to my good pal and old college roommate Jose', The Ninja, his wife, and another friend of hers named Vicky. They were already well into it by the time we arrived. Chuck, Dave and I were told by a fairly stern looking lady in a lab-coat that we were already behind and were going to need to catch up. We all had to sign a release form stating that we wouldn't even look at a car until about fifteen hours after the conclusion of the training session. Makes sense. Then they asked us for our drink order. They had a huge collection of the basics, vodka, whiskey, rum and tequila as well as several mixing options. I asked for a red wine and got the stinkeye from Labcoat Lady. Probably best if I quit fucking around with all these cops in the room. After literally a moment's thought, I settled on a screwdriver, vodka and orange juice. Since I'm basically an idiot, I figured, "what the hell. May as well have something a little bit healthy, low calorie booze and Vitamin C! GOTTA WATCH MY FIGURE!" We were told that all of the drinks would be doubles served in a large Solo cup. And since they were closely monitoring our intake, we wouldn't be allowed to switch up to anything different once we started. There was a sparse collection of crackers, chips and salsa scattered in front of us, as well as a large television in the corner showing day #2 of the first round of March Madness. At least we won't miss the games!<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZ_ONEbYIk4/USRmKJzQtGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/9TVR5jneCPs/s1600/IMG_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VZ_ONEbYIk4/USRmKJzQtGI/AAAAAAAAAMA/9TVR5jneCPs/s320/IMG_0080.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lab! Looks like your average break room.</td></tr></tbody></table>Our bartender, a Sandy City Police officer named Steve served me up with my first drink at 11:30 AM. TIME TO GET DAY DRUNK. It didn't take very long for me to realize that my drink selection didn't lend itself to quick consumption very well. Lot of acid in it. I polished it off in about twenty-two minutes and was served my second double screwdriver at 11:54 AM. "To our health!" I toasted the table as I took a sip. This one went down a little bit quicker. It only took about twelve minutes to slurp it down and I was served my third double screwdriver at 12:08 PM. About halfway through this drink, Labcoat Lady sauntered over, whispered something flattering about my chiseled physique in my ear, straightened up and then sternly told me to pick up the pace. One of those things wasn't true. Evidently, I was behind, but it felt like I was hammering them down twice as fast as everyone else in the room.<br /><br />It was now 12:13 PM and it was time to take our first breathalyzer test into the big machine, the one they have "down at the station." We were all given a tube and blew a lungful into it as Labcoat Lady recorded our results. I started to notice that it was starting to get a little bit louder in the room and things were starting to echo in my head a little bit. I ate six Triscuits and tried not to freak out.&nbsp; The results of my first breathalyzer after six shots of vodka in 45 minutes:&nbsp; .058. Well below the legal limit.<br /><br />It was now 12:30 after we got the results of the first test and it was now time to get back at it. Labcoat Lady ordered Steve to make my next one a triple and yelled at me to drink faster. I managed to choke that one down in twenty minutes and she scaled down the next one, drink #5, back down to a double. GLAD I COULD CATCH UP! It was getting really loud in the room now, and I didn't feel too good. I rallied though and slammed that one down like a champion. I gave it my best Archer WOOOOOOOOOOOO and it was on to #6 at 1:00. I got about halfway through it when I realized it was time to take the lid off. I asked one of the observing officers, Officer Bryan, if I could be excused to use the john, and remembering the maze of hallways that led us in to this place, directions. Nice guy that he was, he walked me up and down a dozen hallways to the men's room. However, when I came out, he was nowhere to be found.<br /><br />I managed to stumble my way back to the lab, whistling Ricky Nelson's "I'm Walkin'" the whole way. I'm not sure how I did it, It might have something to do with the concept of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/State-dependent_learning" target="_blank">drunken recall</a>, or my crazy ability to go from not even being able to hit the board to dart champion after a few beers. I quickly polished off #6 and we were told it was last call. Labcoat Lady put me down for another triple for drink #7. I felt like a lab rat. I managed to finish that last Solo cup of booze and juice right at 1:30. It was deafeningly loud in the room and it felt like I was blinking about 400 times a minute. I managed to remember the good looking gal sitting across the table's name, and felt like I was putting on a good face, but my guts were turning somersaults. The whole time I kept notes on the experience in my phone. "I havent Benny this hacked in Awhile!" I typed on my touchscreen. No, I have no clue what that meant either.<br /><br />It was time for our second breathalyzer test. I blew into the big machine and recorded a .107 BAC. They then added a second variable and had us blow into the portable machine that is carried in your average cop car. That one read .079. Still not legally drunk by that definition. But my eyes didn't lie. I could barely see at this point. As hammered as I was I thought it was amazing that the field tester was that far off. Definitely fucked up. It felt like we'd been in that lab for about eight hours. We'd been in there for TWO hours and I'd had what amounted to sixteen shots of vodka in that time-frame. I felt awful, and we hadn't even hit phase two of the testing yet, the field sobriety tests.<br /><br />Now, I remembered back to my junior college days when they'd bring in the drunk goggles to the student center at Eastern Utah to try and scare us off of drinking. And I remember my buddy Skwez and I putting those goggles on and moonwalking backwards heel-to-toe on their painted white line. Not an accurate simulation. I didn't want to make an ass out of myself, so I spent the two days before the test trying to re-create your average field sobriety test. I practiced walking the white line in my condo parking lot. I taught myself how to speed through the alphabet backwards while I was swimming laps. I was going to ace these tests. That is, if I didn't kill myself stumbling down those five flights of stairs down to the academy basement to the firing range where the tests were going to take place. If you've never hiked down a bunch of stairs after you've thrown on a massive drunk, I don't recommend it. It's not a pleasant experience. <br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2XcyWobuKXE/USR13X-2yVI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/OQqT70P3CNE/s1600/Utah-Highway-Patrol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2XcyWobuKXE/USR13X-2yVI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/OQqT70P3CNE/s320/Utah-Highway-Patrol.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm feeling ill just looking at it.</td></tr></tbody></table>We walked through a corridor into a massive room filled with parallel lines and what felt like a barely seven foot ceiling. Just looking around was nauseating. There were around fifty police officers from what seemed like every Utah jurisdiction imaginable. We were each assigned three different officers and went through three batteries of tests. Sadly, I never had to recite the alphabet backwards. But had to perform a seemingly endless array of balance tests. Tests that frankly, I don't think I could pass if I was as sober as a nun. I don't think anybody could.&nbsp; The lesson as always, never take the field sobriety test. It's designed to make you fail! I thought I handled my shit pretty well, all things considered, but I could barely make it through each test. I was a mess. At about 2:40 we trudged back upstairs for our third and final breathalyzer test. I blew a .121. According to a table I found online, that's what a 160 lb. guy should blow after 8 shots in two hours. That's what I blew after 16 shots in two hours and I could barely stand up.<br /><br />At 3:30 we were ushered into a classroom where all of the officers from the day had gathered and they gave us a standing ovation. At least, that's what I think they were doing. It sounded like thunder in my head. They had our results written on the big-ass whiteboard in the front of the room. As expected I pretty much failed every test, but managed to score higher than a few people in our group. It also showed number of shots consumed, and I'd had four more shots in that two hour span than the next highest person in the group. Then I remembered, "hey, you look like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grimace_%28character%29#Characters" target="_blank">Grimace </a>compared to everyone in here," and things snapped back into focus.<br /><br />A nice fella named Officer Archie from the Park City Police Department gave me a lift back home across the valley. That drive felt like it took an hour, but it only took about twenty minutes. My head was spinning and I was doing everything I could do to not spew in the guy's Ford Escape. I recall asking him if he saw any crazy shit during Sundance. He told me he was the first officer on the scene when Tracy Morgan started <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/entertainment/2012/01/tracy-morgan-rushed-to-hospital-at-sundance-film-festival/" target="_blank">freaking out and babbling incoherently before he collapsed</a> during an awards ceremony. That brought on my last smartassed followup of the day, "How did you know anything was wrong? Isn't he like that all the time?" Officer Archie, obviously a <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0496424/" target="_blank">30 Rock</a> fan started chuckling.<br /><br />He dropped me off and I pulled myself up the stairs to my condo, returning a conquering hero. I stomped past my roommate, pretending not to hear her request for a rundown on the day. Obviously, I wasn't in any condition to talk to anyone at this point, and she probably wouldn't understand anything I had to say anyway. From there, I kicked off my sneakers, damn near knocked my bedroom door off its hinges and face-planted into my bed, passing out in my jeans. This broke one of my cardinal rules: NEVER FALL ASLEEP IN JEANS.<br /><br />My phone woke me up about six hours later with a surprising text message from this one girl that I kinda sorta liked. She wanted to hang out tonight. To my recollection, that was the first time she'd ever contacted me wanting to get together. By my count I'd been shot down about a half dozen times before, and had kind of given up on her. Sadly, it wasn't to be. A gut full of booze and juice, combined with my own stubborn insistence to not throw up had brought about the nightmare scenario for anyone that's ever been day drunk: THE DREADED NIGHTTIME HANGOVER. Plus, I'd signed that release form. For all I knew, if I would've gotten busted behind the wheel, they were gonna lock me up and throw away the key. I'm pretty sure I'd end up in the local PMITA prison, if not the drunk tank they locked us in once when we got the jail tour in the ten minutes I was in the cub scouts. I sent her the most pathetic, rambling drunken text reply ever sent to anyone before 10:30 PM, and politely declined. My head hit the pillow once again, just as the final NCAA basketball game of the day was signing off the air. What a goddamn loser.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b8r7EBsIDwo/USR-4AtJ5kI/AAAAAAAAAMg/hUyLVjXH9tY/s1600/IMG_1803.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b8r7EBsIDwo/USR-4AtJ5kI/AAAAAAAAAMg/hUyLVjXH9tY/s320/IMG_1803.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'M A PROFESSIONAL!</td></tr></tbody></table>Epilogue<br />Somehow, the early hangover was beneficial, as I still had some responsibility. I actually felt great the next morning!&nbsp; I pulled up to the gates at my beloved Rose Park Golf Course promptly at 5:30 AM and knocked out a full, busy shift of work without any lingering after effects. I sent my friend another message, apologizing for the gibberish I'd sent her the night before. She replied with a ton of LOLs and a "Too bad, we had a blast! Pretty lame that you missed out, ya lightweight." response. C'est la vie, I guess. Two weeks later though, I got an envelope in the mail from the state of Utah. I'd completely forgotten about DUI training at that point, so it was a nice surprise to get a check in the mail for twenty-five bucks from the Utah Department of Public Safety. Proof positive kids that if you work hard, believe in yourself, and know a cop on the right committee, you too can officially call yourself a professional drinker.<br /><br /><br />Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-73505898030947706842013-01-30T02:36:00.000-07:002013-02-01T15:44:18.410-07:00The Golf Monster Sundance Preview/Review 2013 Edition!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8PXa_Qoc68/UQYWnVBc2GI/AAAAAAAAAJA/wtByIiVAV_I/s1600/IMG_0255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Z8PXa_Qoc68/UQYWnVBc2GI/AAAAAAAAAJA/wtByIiVAV_I/s320/IMG_0255.JPG" width="240" /></a>The 2013 Sundance Film Festival just blew through the area, and left just before a massive snowstorm that's threatening to make life for all of us here in the city very uncomfortable for a few days. For a film lover like yours truly, it's a great opportunity to see some awesome films months and months before anyone else gets to. It's also a great chance to see some really shitty films months before Rotten Tomatoes gets to pile dirt on them. I tend to find, it's usually one or the other. There's rarely a film that plays at this festival where I come out thinking, "meh, it's all right, I guess." And that risk folks makes the $15.00 tickets worth it. You're really on the edge of your seat. I also tend to limit myself to screenings only within walking distance from my condo as parking's a mess this time of year, but as luck would have it, all the Salt Lake City venues fit the bill. I also tend to gravitate towards the films that don't get a ton of mainstream play, so it's pretty rare to have the random celebrity sighting, but once in awhile I get lucky. Here's what I saw this year!<br /><br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2309021/" target="_blank">WE ARE WHAT WE ARE</a></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFQIMXgB3jY/UQYXtoFDeYI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/rkPB4Pw5W0w/s1600/Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFQIMXgB3jY/UQYXtoFDeYI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/rkPB4Pw5W0w/s1600/Poster.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Man Chili makes for a pasty complexion.</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:</b>&nbsp; A seemingly wholesome and benevolent family, the Parkers have always kept to themselves, and for good reason. Behind closed doors, patriarch Frank rules the roost with a rigorous fervor, determined to keep his ancestral customs intact at any cost. As a torrential rainstorm moves into the area, tragedy strikes and his daughters Iris and Rose are<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> forced to assume responsibilities that extend beyond those of a typical family. The most important task the girls face is putting meat on the table— but not the kind that can be found at the local supermarket. As the unrelenting downpour continues to flood their small town, local authorities begin to uncover clues that bring them closer to the secret that the Parkers have held closely for so many years.</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>My Quick Review:&nbsp;</b> Pretty solid way to kick off the festival this year! This film started off with a vaguely familiar looking lady, Mrs. Parker, puking up a ton of bile and drowning in a large puddle. It wasn't until I got home that I realized that was actually one of the two only really recognizable "stars" in the cast, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000534/" target="_blank">Kelly McGillis</a>! It was then that I realized that <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092099/" target="_blank">Top Gun</a></i> came out 27 goddamn years ago and I started to cry. GETTING OLD SUCKS! Anyway, this one had a creepy as hell atmosphere and was also graced by a solid performance from Tarantino film mainstay <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0662981/" target="_blank">Michael Parks</a>.&nbsp; I was also impressed by the performances from the two female leads, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1024107/" target="_blank">Ambyr Childers</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3400186/" target="_blank">Julia Garner</a>. They were incredibly composed given the cannibalistic subject matter, and played the part of scared children of a religious nut well. This one had a great, WHAT IN THE BLUE HELL DID I JUST SEE ending to it. It has been picked up and I'm sure it'll play at a horror festival or two.&nbsp; It'll probably see an autumn release at some point. Just in time for Halloween.&nbsp; RATING: 7 Shovels to the back of the skull out of 10&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><br /></span><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2363471/" target="_blank"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">THE SUMMIT</span></a></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nJXrQiixvxI/UQYcrI9wAbI/AAAAAAAAAJg/1tNNhCHs_Ac/s1600/The-Summit-Movie-K2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="157" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nJXrQiixvxI/UQYcrI9wAbI/AAAAAAAAAJg/1tNNhCHs_Ac/s320/The-Summit-Movie-K2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOOK AT THAT GODDAMN THING! YOU GOTTA BE NUTS!</td></tr></tbody></table><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:</b>&nbsp; </span>Although <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K2" target="_blank">K2</a> is only the second-highest peak in the world, it is renowned as the most dangerous and revered by mountaineers as their ultimate challenge. In August 2008, 18 of 24 climbers reached the summit of K2. Forty-eight hours later, 11 people were dead. What happened on that fateful day has never been resolved.<br /><br />Utilizing found footage,<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> interviews with survivors, and seamlessly realistic reenactments, <i>The Summit</i> zigzags back and forth in time, interweaving multiple narrative threads and piecing together events, hoping to solve the mystery of what actually happened on that day—the deadliest in mountain-climbing history. At the heart of the mystery is the story of Ger McDonnell, one extraordinary man who chose to risk his own life to save others. With the help of breathtaking cinematography by Robbie Ryan and Stephen O’Reilly, director <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2501199/" target="_blank">Nick Ryan</a> creates a tension-filled, experiential film that will have viewers on the edge of their seats. <i>The Summit</i> pits Man against Mother Nature in her most majestic and terrifying extreme.</span><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKFksiONDYs/UQYjjpqktqI/AAAAAAAAAJw/QE6qUc2VaCQ/s1600/IMG_0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKFksiONDYs/UQYjjpqktqI/AAAAAAAAAJw/QE6qUc2VaCQ/s200/IMG_0239.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had to sit way too close for this one</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>My Quick Review:</b>&nbsp; There's a thing with seeing documentaries in these days of the internet. You can do a ton of research of the subject matter and get one part of the story. But it takes true talent to take what is the given story that everyone seems to agree upon of a subject and flip it on its head. Nick Ryan's The Summit did that very well. I remember the stories of the disastrous 2008 K2 expedition. But had no idea the depth of the heroism involved in that tragic Summer. I still have no idea whatsoever why anyone would want to try to do something like climb a 28,000 foot high deathtrap. But I do have a little greater understanding of the rush that these adrenaline junkies are constantly chasing. One thing I do have is great appreciation of true heroism, and the guys that kept going up into the "Death Zone" to try to rescue people have that in spades. I had the opportunity to meet one of these guys, Pemba Gyalje Sherpa after the screening. He's easily the biggest badass I've ever met in person. If you want to see what true heroism is, check this documentary out.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">As an added feature, I got to the line-up for the screening a little bit late which meant I had to sit in the second row, almost looking straight up at the screen. Usually that sucks, but for a movie like this one where the people onscreen are literally looking out over the edge of the world, that sense of vertigo made if feel a little more real.&nbsp; RATING:&nbsp; 9 Top of the Worlds out of 10 &nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><br /></span><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2318527/" target="_blank"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">HELL BABY</span></a></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aVZWVyiun2g/UQYkyx6yb2I/AAAAAAAAAKA/XpGfo6ppCq0/s1600/Hell_Baby_review_-_SUNDANCE_article_story_main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="138" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aVZWVyiun2g/UQYkyx6yb2I/AAAAAAAAAKA/XpGfo6ppCq0/s200/Hell_Baby_review_-_SUNDANCE_article_story_main.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only still I could find!</td></tr></tbody></table><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">Official Sundance Synopsis:&nbsp; </span>Expectant couple Jack and Vanessa move into the most haunted fixer-upper in New Orleans—a house with a deadly demonic curse. When things soon spiral out of control, it’ll take the help of Vanessa’s Wiccan sister, a nosey “neighbor” who lives in their crawl space, two local detectives, and a pair of elite Vatican exorcists to save them—or is it<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> already too late?<br /><br />Revered as two of the minds behind the hilarious sketch television shows <i>Reno 911!, The State,</i> and <i>Viva Variety</i> and the screenwriters of big-budget comedies like the <i>Night at the Museum</i> films, comedians <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0502073" target="_blank">Thomas Lennon</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0304830/" target="_blank">Robert Ben Garant</a> finally unleash their codirectorial debut. Featuring a seasoned comedic ensemble, including scene stealers <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0004753/" target="_blank">Leslie Bibb</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1221047/" target="_blank">Keegan Michael Key</a>, this raucous horror spoof sics the devilish humor of its creators on the most sacred of genre conventions: the haunted house, an exorcism, and one pissy demon child.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">My Quick Review:&nbsp; I'm an unapologetic <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1117791/" target="_blank">Rob Corddry</a> nutswinger. I think that dude's comic timing is great and he has great range playing everything from the everyman, to the asshole, to the schlub. After Steve Carrell, he's probably my favorite <i>Daily Show</i> correspondent ever. But he rarely gets any feature work in films. He's usually a side character at best. So it was great to see the guy come to the forefront here in this ridiculous sendup of every 70's horror trope known to man. Lennon and Garant manage to get everything right that the vastly inferior Scary Movie series gets wrong. Add in hilarious cameos from just about every current recognizable improv comic on the scene as well as some gratuitous nudity courtesy of folk comedy duo Garfunkel and Oates' <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1641251/" target="_blank">Riki Lindhome</a> and we have a winner.&nbsp; RATING: 10 </span>Domilise's Po-Boy's out of 10.<br /><br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1509788/" target="_blank">ASS BACKWARDS</a></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-__-AB0MNZf8/UQjLIFbASZI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/cxiuTpK-Z0M/s1600/Copy+of+HR_AFM_ASSBackwards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-__-AB0MNZf8/UQjLIFbASZI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/cxiuTpK-Z0M/s200/Copy+of+HR_AFM_ASSBackwards.jpg" width="135" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glad to see John Cryer get some poster time</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:</b>&nbsp; Kate and Chloe have been best friends since childhood, when they both tied for dead last in their hometown beauty pageant. Now they are all grown up and living in New York City, where Chloe works as a “girl in a box” at a nightclub and Kate is a CEO…of her own one-woman egg-donor “corporation.” Their past humiliation remains long forgotten until<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> they receive an invitation to the pageant’s milestone anniversary celebration. The unpleasant memories come flooding back, but Kate and Chloe decide to redeem themselves by winning the elusive crown.<br /><br />Director <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0625245/" target="_blank">Chris Nelson</a> takes us on a raucous and wacky road trip that includes a rescued wild rabbit, a feminist wilderness commune, and amateur night at a strip club. Lead actresses <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2053085/" target="_blank">June Diane Raphael</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1988111/" target="_blank">Casey Wilson </a>have great laugh-out-loud chemistry, and their brand of stiletto-clad physical comedy brings an amusing and unique charm to the female version of the buddy movie.</span> <br /><br /><b>My Quick Review:</b>&nbsp; This one is mostly for the ladies out there, as it flips the formula for a typical road trip flick. But it's got plenty of laughs for the fellas as well. This one features two gals that are best friends through thick and thin, but have never quite gotten over their childhood defeat as wannabe pageant queens. And by "haven't gotten over it" I mean to say, are in complete denial about it. But that's not going to stop their good-natured romp back to their hometown. There's plenty of bawdy laughs to be had here. And their Q&amp;A after the screening was goddamn hilarious. RATING:&nbsp; 6 Rehab Stints out of 10.<br /><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MR6A_9YLps0/UQjQd8ldTRI/AAAAAAAAAKg/vOOdtq7WAB8/s1600/s-vhs_-sundance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MR6A_9YLps0/UQjQd8ldTRI/AAAAAAAAAKg/vOOdtq7WAB8/s200/s-vhs_-sundance.jpg" width="158" /></a><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2450186/" target="_blank">S-VHS</a></b><br /><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:&nbsp;</b> Inside a darkened house looms a column of TVs littered with VHS tapes, a pagan shrine to forgotten analog gods. The screens crackle and pop endlessly with monochrome vistas of static—white noise permeating the brain and fogging concentration. But you must fight the urge to relax: this is no mere movie night. Those obsolete spools contain more than<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> just magnetic tape. They are imprinted with the very soul of evil.<br /><br />From the demented minds that brought you last year’s <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2105044/" target="_blank"><i>V/H/S</i></a> comes <i>S-VHS,</i> an all-new anthology of dread, madness, and gore. This follow-up ventures even further down the demented path blazed by its predecessor, discovering new and terrifying territory in the genre. This is modern horror at its most inventive, shrewdly subverting our expectations about viral videos in ways that are just as satisfying as they are sadistic. The result is the rarest of all tapes—a second generation with no loss of quality.</span> <br /><br /><b>My Quick Review:</b>&nbsp; This was my most anticipated film of the festival. Horror anthology <i>V/H/S</i> broke some serious ground when it comes to providing big scares and gore on a budget. So the sequel had a lot to live up to. The premise, a couple private investigators bust into a decrepit house looking for a missing college student. He's nowhere to be found, but there are hundreds of VHS tapes strewn all over the apartment. They start popping tapes into an old-school top-loading VCR and are treated to the horror contained on each. Each tape was its own little horror short.&nbsp; Here's a quick rundown of the four:<br />Tape #1:&nbsp; Directed by Adam Wingard and Simon Barret -&nbsp; A wealthy man, has his right eye replaced after an accident with a robotic one. The catch being that the robotic eye is recording everything he sees. Oh and it gives him the ability to see the myriad of ghosts that inhabit his rather large Hollywood Hills home. This one had some good jump scares, but not a ton of gore.<br />Tape #2:&nbsp; Directed by <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0185937/" target="_blank">The Blair Witch Project's</a></i> Eduardo Sanchez and Gregg Hale - A guy spends an afternoon riding a mountain bike through the woods with one of those GoPro cameras strapped to his helmet. He happens upon a screaming lady covered in blood that's running from something. As he tries to assist her, she turns zombie on him and tears a nice chunk out of his neck, leaving him for dead. But he's not dead, he's pretty undead and we get an incredibly gory, slightly comical first hand look at a zombie apocalypse from the other side. Good laughs here.&nbsp; I rather enjoyed this one.<br />Tape #3:&nbsp; Directed by <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1899353/" target="_blank">The Raid: Redemption's</a></i> Gareth Evans and Timo Tjahjanto - A group of TV journalists travel to Indonesia to investigate a Jim Jones-esque cult leader at their compound. While very accommodating at first, the cult soon starts to peel the layers back to reveal a more sinister side. And mayhem ensues. This was my favorite short of the film and it easily could have been its own feature. As an aside, the walls of the cult compound were decorated by hundreds of those creepy-assed Blair Witch dolls. So it was surprising to me that those dudes ended up doing a different short in this film.<br />Tape #4: Directed by <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1640459/" target="_blank">Hobo With A Shotgun's</a> </i>Jason Eisener - This one featured a group of little asshole kids having a slumber party at their lakehouse when their parents were away. They strapped a GoPro (who really should be sponsoring the movie at this point) to a little Shorkie dog. So the entire movie was fromt he POV of the dog.The kids pull pranks on their older siblings and each other until something otherworldly comes out of the lake. Like a more terrifying <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083866/" target="_blank">ET</a></i>. This segment got most of the critics talking, but I found it inferior to #2 and #3.<br />Conclusion:&nbsp; I enjoyed it well enough, but overall it was a bit of a letdown compared to the nice surprise that V/H/S was last year. Although, any flick where the gore onscreen caused a solid fifteen people to just up and leave in the middle of it has to be doing something right.&nbsp; RATING:&nbsp; 7 Goat Babies out of 10<br /><br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2224004/" target="_blank">SWEETWATER</a></b><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gIqGPfm78B0/UQjcqMZLgPI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Jk85mVtgc40/s1600/Sweetwater-Poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gIqGPfm78B0/UQjcqMZLgPI/AAAAAAAAAKw/Jk85mVtgc40/s320/Sweetwater-Poster.jpg" width="208" /></a><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:</b>&nbsp; Against the backdrop of the American Old West, newlyweds Miguel and Sarah struggle to make a living cultivating their small patch of land. Soon a much bigger struggle arises as powerful landowner and community preacher Prophet Josiah makes a play for their property. As he launches his diabolical plot to take their land, an eccentric big-city<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> sheriff comes to town. Things soon go from bad to worse, culminating in a jaw-dropping, hell-hath-no-fury showdown.<br /><br /><i>Sweetwater</i> boldly establishes its own identity while remaining true to the tenets of the western genre. Wonderfully cinematic, this expressive tale is superbly directed by the Miller brothers, who extract strong performances from the ensemble cast. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000438/" target="_blank">Ed Harris</a> is especially striking in a bravura role as the sheriff. With the magnificent New Mexico countryside as their canvas, the Miller brothers imaginatively stroke their cinematic brush across an intense but humorous film.</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>My Quick Review:</b> When done well, I loves me a good Western flick. And this one certainly didn't disappoint. The landscapes were beautifully filmed, with the New Mexico countryside just popping off the screen. Ed Harris was solid as the eccentric Sheriff, trying to get to the bottom of a murder mystery.&nbsp; Hell, the director even got a competent performance out of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0005064/" target="_blank">January Jones</a>, and she normally can't act her way out of a paper bag! I was hooked by one scene in particular where Harris' Sheriff character explains to the increasingly sinister Prophet Josiah, exactly why geography brought him to this small town. Folks, it was Tarantino-esque.&nbsp; This one should do pretty well if it gets a decent release.&nbsp; RATING: 8 Wooden Crosses out of 10&nbsp; &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_5PGDbB5BLg/UQjjVVAZdJI/AAAAAAAAALA/Z-nVPn37iLE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_5PGDbB5BLg/UQjjVVAZdJI/AAAAAAAAALA/Z-nVPn37iLE/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">&nbsp;</span><br /><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2334649/" target="_blank"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">FRUITVALE</span></a></b><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">Official Sundance Synopsis:&nbsp; </span><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BART_Police_shooting_of_Oscar_Grant" target="_blank">Oscar Grant</a> was a 22-year-old Bay Area resident who loved his friends, was generous to strangers, and had a hard time telling the truth to the mother of his beautiful daughter. He was scared and courageous and charming and raw, and as human as the community he was part of. That community paid attention to him, shouted on his behalf, and filmed him<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> with their cell phones when BART officers, who were strong, intimidated, and acting in the way they thought they were supposed to behave around people like Oscar, shot him in cold blood at the Fruitvale subway stop on New Year’s Day in 2009.<br /><br />Director<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3363032/" target="_blank"> Ryan Coogler</a> makes an extraordinary directorial debut with this soulful account of the real-life event that horrified the nation. Featuring radiant performances by Melonie Diaz and Michael B. Jordan as Grant, a young man whose eyes were an open window into his soul, <i>Fruitvale</i> offers a barometer reading on the state of humanity in American society today.</span></span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>My Quick Review:</b>&nbsp; I saw this one at a special "locals only" screening. This film won the festival's U.S. Grand Jury Prize. This was a pretty moving film, and you get the sense that this dude was on the cusp of changing his life around when he was struck down at that subway stop. That's not to say that the guy didn't have flaws, I mean, you can't spend the first three years of your daughter's life without some major flaws. But you just get that feeling that with another break or two, he was going to elevate things. Or at least become a productive member of society again. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0430107/" target="_blank">Michael B. Jordan</a> had a moving run as the deeply conflicted Oscar Grant that may put him in line for an award or two in the future. This is probably going to be one of those "important" films that generate major buzz. Sometimes those types of movies (Amour for example) seem self-involved or only for the hoi palloi, but this one was just, plain good. RATING 9 Riots out of 10.&nbsp;</span></span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2312890/" target="_blank"><b><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">AFTERNOON DELIGHT</span></span></b></a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IomTGx67XRU/UQjlzPfoDrI/AAAAAAAAALQ/MnkHF0XeJrA/s1600/MV5BMjAwMTc0NDY5MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNTk4MDg5OA@@._V1_SX214_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IomTGx67XRU/UQjlzPfoDrI/AAAAAAAAALQ/MnkHF0XeJrA/s1600/MV5BMjAwMTc0NDY5MV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwNTk4MDg5OA@@._V1_SX214_.jpg" /></a></div><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><b>Official Sundance Synopsis:&nbsp;</b> </span></span><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">Rachel is a quick-witted and lovable, yet tightly coiled, thirtysomething steeped in the creative class of Los Angeles’s bohemian, affluent Silver Lake neighborhood. Everything looks just right—chic modernist home, successful husband, adorable child, and a hipster wardrobe. So why is she going out of her gourd with ennui? Plagued by<span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;"> purposelessness, Rachel visits a strip club to spice up her marriage and ends up meeting McKenna, a stripper whom she becomes obsessed with saving. She decides to adopt McKenna as her live-in nanny, and this bold move unleashes unimagined and colorful waves of change into her life and community. It becomes clear that Rachel is feverishly, desperately trying to save her own sense of who she is.<br /><br />In a perfect storm of hilarious writing, performance, and direction, first-timer <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0813561/" target="_blank">Jill Soloway</a> pinpoints the ambivalence of privileged, educated women seduced by an idealized vision of marriage and motherhood, yet deadened by the stultifying realities of preschool auctions, lackluster sex lives, and careers that have gone kaput. <i>Afternoon Delight</i> compassionately revels in the existential trials of a Peter Pan generation battling too many choices, resisting adulthood, and distractedly tapping their iPhones instead of tuning in to what matters.</span> </span>&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">My Quick Review:&nbsp; Endend up seeing a lot of movies geared toward the ladies this year and this one was no different. Although much like <i>Ass Backwards</i> there were plenty of laughs and entertainment to be had for the fellas as well.&nbsp; But don't get me wrong, while this was a laugh a minute kind of flick, it wasn't really a comedy.&nbsp; It was actually a pretty dark film about a family and a mother that are crumbling before our very eyes. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1063517/" target="_blank">Kathryn Hahn</a> was excellent as the wisecracking Rachel, but portrayed the more serious content with aplomb. The film took a daring approach to answering the old question, "How do you save someone that doesn't necessarily want or need saving?" It was an enjoyable end to the festival.&nbsp; RATING 9 Yentas out of 10.</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RoIzbauFY30/UQjnrz3kUFI/AAAAAAAAALg/ho_Be5AcZ84/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RoIzbauFY30/UQjnrz3kUFI/AAAAAAAAALg/ho_Be5AcZ84/s200/IMG_0236.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">CONCLUSION:&nbsp; Once again, the Sundance Film Festival provided a week and a half of ground-breaking, imaginative filmmaking. I feel luckier than hell to have this going on every year, right in my backyard!&nbsp; Next year, we'll be making the trek up into the mountains to Park City to try and mingle with the upper crust. But for a film junkie, none of that shit really matters. Everybody should take advantage of the wonderful opportunity to support independent film making and the people that make it happen!</span><br /><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">The Golf Monster's 2013 Film Rankings!</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">8. We Are What We Are</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">7. Fruitvale</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">6. Ass Backwards</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">5. S-VHS</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">4. Afternoon Delight</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">3. Sweetwater</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">2. The Summit</span><br /><span class="expand_details" style="display: inline;">1. Hell Baby </span><br /><br />Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-69018922541710544952013-01-15T04:51:00.000-07:002013-01-15T04:51:40.113-07:00An Exercise in Self-Flagellation... So, I guess today was the coldest day in the history of Utah, or something. This, combined with the two feet of snow we had this past weekend, means your humble golf monster has a lot of time off to to write.&nbsp; Hopefully, I can make it past four posts in 2013! Sundance is coming up later this week, so there will be movie reviews coming up soon, as well as some stories from the near and the distant past. First up though, a look inside the mind of a mildly deranged sports fan.&nbsp; <br /><br />Three weeks ago, I left the cold, miserable weather of the Wasatch Front and flew south to sunny Phoenix, Arizona for a wonderful weekend of golf and drinking.&nbsp; On Sunday, December 21st, my cousin Pete and I plopped our thirtysomething asses into stadium seats to watch our favorite football team, The Chicago Bears, take on the Arizona Cardinals. For me, it was the culmination of over thirty years of anticipation, excitement, elation, frustration, pain and heartache. I know, I know, educated, logically thinking people shouldn't allow a bunch of millionaires beating the shit out of each other in some far away stadium on a weekly basis to tie their emotions in knots. Believe me, I wish it wasn't this way, but as you're going to find out, it's sadly my lot in life.<br /><br />To quote the great Peter Venkman, "...call it fate, call it luck, call it karma, but I believe that everything happens for a reason." I think I've been a fan of the Chicago Bears since I was in the crib.&nbsp; Hell, I think it was my first word.&nbsp; But life as a fan didn't really kick in until I was five years old. Here's the issue though...I grew up in Price, Utah.&nbsp; Price is miles and miles away from really anything so there was really no such thing as a hometown team to get behind. My family were all football fans, but they were all fans of different teams. My Mom and Dad liked the 49ers, my Grandpa was a fan of the Chargers, my Uncle Mike a fan of the Raiders, my Godmother a fan of the (ugh) Packers, my dad's omnipresent best friend Joe rooted for the Broncos, and everyone on my mom's side of the family rooted for the Cowboys.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E3qBDAxC6cM/UPUACtkPDsI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/-wHvX3Y6Dcg/s1600/MTS_dramamine213-1167042-murray-ghostbusters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="164" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E3qBDAxC6cM/UPUACtkPDsI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/-wHvX3Y6Dcg/s320/MTS_dramamine213-1167042-murray-ghostbusters.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I also believe a chubby toddler in Utah is going to make a huge mistake.</td></tr></tbody></table>Then there was my Uncle George, the youngest in my dad's family.&nbsp; He was a fan of the Chicago Bears from way back in the Gayle Sayers days. He recognized the spark and for Christmas in 1984 he gifted six-year-old me a full-on little Chicago Bears uniform!&nbsp; It had pads and everything! It was even #34, the number of my favorite player, Walter Payton! I put a ton of mileage on that thing, crashing my way through imaginary linemen on the way to touchdowns and glory! I even got my first real taste of disappointment that season with my Dad cackling with delight as his 49ers shutout my Bears 23-0 in the NFC Championship game on their way to the Super Bowl XIX title.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qr3iEl4y254/UPUQbeQRuWI/AAAAAAAAAHg/csnXmzTvn0w/s1600/0101wf8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qr3iEl4y254/UPUQbeQRuWI/AAAAAAAAAHg/csnXmzTvn0w/s200/0101wf8.jpg" width="156" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charming!</td></tr></tbody></table>What can be said about the 1985 Bears team that hasn't been said already? I could channel my inner Bob Swerski and talk about "Da Coach," Mike Ditka, the gum-chewin, bird flippin' sweater-wearin' stalker of the sidelines. I could speak at length about the legendary 46-defense that demolished their way through the league that year. I could wax poetic about the memorable games like the "Revenge Game" against the Niners, the Monday-night beatdown of the hated Packers, domination in Dallas, and even that dark, dark, Monday night game in which Dan Marino's Dolphins stumbled upon the keys to unlocking the "46" and prevented the Bears from joining them as the only undefeated team in the Super Bowl era. A very dark night indeed. I could go on and on about the tremendous personalities on that squad, the Punky QB known as McMahon, Refrigerator Perry, Speedy Willie Gault, Samurai Mike Singletary and the rest of the "Shufflin' Crew;" who on December 3rd (the night after the Monday-night Miami disaster) recorded a ridiculous rap video, The Super Bowl Shuffle. Somehow that recording ended up #41 on the Billboard chart and raised over $300,000.00 for needy Chicago area families.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2B74ii2F0Bw?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br />Yes that actually happened. From that point on, that team completely laid waste to everything in their path. They shut out the New York Giants in the NFC Divisionals and repeated the feat in a blizzard against the Los Angeles Rams in the NFC Championship game. Holy shit! My team was going to the Super Bowl! My folks would throw one of the biggest parties in town every year and this one was no different. I was counting the minutes to get out of church to run home and throw on my uniform, like I was going into battle along side my heroes. I was a seven-year-old dipshit, but I didn't care. The good guys took care of business that day, dispatching the upstart New England Patriots 46-10, as I played the part of the annoying little shitty kid, running around asking all my parents friends to try and knock me down so my pads could make that awesome POP sound.. I must've hit the (very astroturf-like) green carpet in our family-room a hundred times that day. Collapsing in elation as Coach Ditka and Defensive Coordinator Buddy Ryan were both carried off the field by their players, I fell asleep clutching my Chicago Bears football with a giant grin and tears of joy in my eyes. Little did I know, my peak as a fan would occur when I was seven goddamn years old.<br /><br />I swear to god, I thought it would last forever. When you're really young, the good times tend to overshadow the bad to a huge degree. As you get older, that changes. My eight, nine, ten-year-old self couldn't process why the Bears, while still having pretty good teams, would always come up just a little bit short. I mean, Ditka was still there, Payton was still there, Danimal, Mongo, and Singletary were still playing defense. Like a lot of delusional Chicago fans, I thought that team was a dynasty in the making. To my dad's credit, he didn't try to break it down for me, he just let me keep being the fan I was. He didn't tell me that when Buddy Ryan took flight to Philly, the fine tuning of the "46" defense went with him. He didn't gloat when the best quarterback the franchise had since Sid Luckman managed to start less than half the games the team played during the rest of his tenure due to injuries. Hell, I had no idea players could just LEAVE. I had no idea who half of these guys were anymore as they got bounced from the playoffs over and over again in the next few years. But at least they were still on TV on a fairly regular basis, which was a big deal in the pre-Sunday Ticket days. This continued all the way up until the 1989 NFC Championship game where a savage ass-kicking at the hands of the 49ers effectively brought my childhood to a depressing end. It was the last time they would get that close again to Super Bowl glory for seventeen years. I was well into adulthood, by the time I'd experience that kind of feeling again.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sV26_Jdo7Gg/UPUbANRA_0I/AAAAAAAAAHw/mb7ajYohBUA/s1600/Payton+Tribute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sV26_Jdo7Gg/UPUbANRA_0I/AAAAAAAAAHw/mb7ajYohBUA/s200/Payton+Tribute.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Greatest Of All Time</td></tr></tbody></table>A quick aside:&nbsp; I would be remiss of I didn't spend a quick paragraph talking about Walter Payton. In my humble opinion, he was the greatest Bears player of all time. Virtually unstoppable, he was blinding fast in the open field, but never shied away from contact. He seemed to relish it as he bowled over linebackers and DB's alike. Hell, he even had a pretty decent QB rating on halfback option plays. The dude could do it all, and he was pretty much the closest thing I had to a real-life super-hero as a kid. I'm about 99% sure I invited him to my 8th birthday party. I don't think we'll ever see another player like that again, a graceful, yet violent runner that played for 13 seasons and only missed ONE game. But his retirement was the first time I realized what it was like to have to walk away from something because you're just too old and broken down to do it anymore. Off the field he was known as a tremendous humanitarian, and even though it's come out that he was a fairly troubled individual post-retirement, it doesn't sully his image in my eyes. On November 1st, 1999, Payton passed away due to an extremely aggressive form of liver cancer. I had just moved up to Salt Lake a couple months prior to attend college, and I was driving out to the airport to pick up my roommate when the news of his passing came over an update on the radio. I actually had to pull my truck over to compose myself. Outside of close family members and friends passing away, I can't recall anyone's death having that effect on me. <br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tQWlk00Zl9U/UPUeOwgOF6I/AAAAAAAAAIA/T-K5IXuZn38/s1600/wanny250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="157" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tQWlk00Zl9U/UPUeOwgOF6I/AAAAAAAAAIA/T-K5IXuZn38/s200/wanny250.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wouldn't buy a used car from this guy.</td></tr></tbody></table>The team entered a pretty dark period in the 90's, beginning with the sacking of the last link to the magic of 1985, Coach Ditka. I got the news as I was walking with my dad down to the local Elk's Lodge to take my hunter's safety test. They replaced him with the milquetoast Dave Wannstedt. While the defenses were still good, the offense floundered. Although, I wouldn't know too many of the details because the local TV station pretty much quit showing their games altogether. These were the days of regional coverage so I got a weekly dose of Denver and San Francisco games, two teams I absolutely despised. I REALLY had no idea who these guys were anymore, hell, I doubt a good chunk of Chicago residents at the time could name their everyday personnel. This was probably best manifested in the quarterback carousel of the next twenty years.<br /><br />Future Hall of Famer and noted dong-pic self-paparazzo, Brett Favre was the only quarterback the hated Green Bay Packers started from 1992-2007, a time period that resulted in almost yearly playoff appearances, two Super Bowls, one Lombardi Trophy, and a very resentful teenager/young adult from Price, Utah. In a similar period of time, the Bears started no less than 24 different QB's between Jim McMahon, and current QB Jay Cutler. Here's the rundown:&nbsp; Steve Fuller, Mike Tomczak, Doug Flutie, Mike Hohensee, Jim Harbaugh, Peter Tom Willis, Will Furrer, Steve Walsh, Erik Kramer, Dave Krieg, Rick Mirer, Steve Stenstrom, Moses Moreno, Shane Matthews, Cade McNown, Jim Miller, Chris Chandler, Henry Burris, Kordell Stewart, Chad Hutchinson, Craig Krenzel, Jonathan Quinn, Kyle Orton and Rex Grossman. Of the few names of note on that list, they never showed up in Chicago in their primes, they were always on the downhill trend for their careers. But look at that list, just an absolute murderers' row of shitty quarterbacks. There were a lot of 6-10 seasons in there, the team was always godawful, but never shitty enough to get the really good draft picks, and they never got any better. In that same time, I'd given up my childhood dream of being the next two-sport star and settled on golf as my game of choice. But as a fan, I still loved the NFL and I still loved the Chicago Bears. But I will admit, those were dark, dark times indeed.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pUe1cdkmB-0/UPUoUnhZ3WI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Bs-UjnraHAU/s1600/BEAR+DOWN!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="134" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pUe1cdkmB-0/UPUoUnhZ3WI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/Bs-UjnraHAU/s200/BEAR+DOWN!.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousin Pete and I during the famous "Dorm Days"</td></tr></tbody></table>I got really lucky with my first roommate in college, Big Nick. He was a Bears fan as well, and with my cousin Pete, I finally had a support network with which to commiserate as a fan. It's bad enough when your team blows the meat whistle, but when it seems like you're the only fan you know of said team, it's a lonely existence indeed. With the draft of Brian Urlacher in 2000, things finally started to look up a little bit. In the Fall of 2001-Winter of 2002, a quarterback by the name of Jim Miller (oddly enough the first QB ever suspended for banned substances in the NFL) along with a revamped defense propelled the Bears to the last ever NFC Central Division title and their first playoff appearance since I was in junior high! I even won a couple bucks from my Godmother in our annual Packers vs. Bears bets for the first time since I was mowing lawns for money. Just our luck though, as a good friend of Big Nick and mine got married the day of the playoff game, sparing us the horror of a 33-19 drubbing at the hands of the Philadelphia Eagles in the Divisional round.&nbsp; It really felt like they were getting close, but it would be another four years before they would get back to the playoffs again. But hey, at least they were on TV once in awhile again!<br /><br />By 2005 I was long out of school and working as an Assistant Professional at the University of Utah Golf Course here in Salt Lake. A combination of new head coach Lovie Smith, Kyle Orton, Rex Grossman, and a stifling defense got the Bears back into the playoffs. It was around then, that I started experimenting with the concept of karma. and during this season, the concept for the official "Chicago Bears Drinking Game" was born. I would absorb the brunt of their punishment for mistakes on the field. For every turnover, touchdown or just generally stupefyingly bad play the Bears gave up or made on the field, I would take a shot of whisky. I really should've gotten this sponsored by Jack Daniels. I figured, maybe I could buy the team a little good karma and turn things around, or get so blitzed that I'd be numb to the atrocities they'd commit on the field. The drinking game got its first test run during the Divisional playoff loss to the Carolina Panthers, the unintended consequence of which ended up being an unexpected post-game phone call from my Grandmother, mother, and sister in Oregon. Not sure how I held it together on the phone in my "altered" state, but I think I managed.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4X4mY0Q-_iM/UPUy1GShlXI/AAAAAAAAAIg/yw5xasRWS7A/s1600/Untitled-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4X4mY0Q-_iM/UPUy1GShlXI/AAAAAAAAAIg/yw5xasRWS7A/s200/Untitled-1.jpg" width="171" /></a>The following year, behind an even better defense than the year before, a blindingly fast and shifty kick returner, and a surprisingly competent Rex Grossman, the Bears once again recaptured some of that late 80's spark. For the first time in almost twenty years they were able to build on the successes of the previous season and come back even better than before. I was also able to perfect the Drinking Game and it actually seemed to work, as I remember virtually nothing from the 2nd half of the incredible Monday Night Football comeback against a frisky Arizona Cardinals squad.&nbsp; I just know that they won. And they kept on winning, time and again, eventually defeating the New Orleans Saints in the NFC Championship game in a blizzard that gave me flashbacks to that '85-'86 win against the Rams. Two weeks later, I threw the biggest Super Bowl party that I could afford with well over a dozen close friends packed into my tiny house, as well as multiple phone calls to my Dad, Cousin Pete in Phoenix and my friend Carla in Chicago. Devin Hester, savior of that Cardinals game, took the opening kickoff to the house which prompted me to "run down the sideline" of my living room with him. Some say that was the fastest any of those folks had ever seen me move. That would be pretty much the last highlight of the game for me. The Bears kept it interesting, but eventually lost 29-17 to the Indianapolis Colts. Prince's incredible halftime show was pretty much the last thing I remembered from that game. I spent the bulk of the second half sitting on my old toybox, now converted into a place to stack my shoes, in a Jack Daniels induced haze with my head in my hands, save for what I've been told were several humorous drunk dials. <br /><br />That pretty much brings us up to present day. The Bears finally upgraded their quarterback, although, and this is really shocking, he hasn't quite lived up to his promise. It's a familiar story. They even made it back to the NFC title game a couple years ago, a football armageddon if you will against their storied rivals from Green Bay. Again it ended badly. I eventually retired the Drinking Game for my own health, although my buddies convince me to bring it back out once a season. That's my limit. I'm pretty sure I'd have one foot in an early grave otherwise. This year brought something unusual, a ten-win season that didn't result in a playoff birth and the subsequent dismissal of Coach Smith. They're on the hunt now for a new coach, so who knows what the future will bring? Actually, I have a pretty good idea, but I'll never let my cynicism ever get in the way of being a fan. Even though, they've let us down over and over again. As a guy that feels like sports bigots are the scum of the Earth, I feel good hanging my now battered hat on the fact that I'll be a fan of that team literally from the cradle to the grave.<br /><br />Oh yeah, and that game I went to a couple weeks ago? They actually managed to win in the ugliest manner possible against a pretty shitty opponent. But it was an incredible feeling being in a stadium with 65,000 people, 45,000 of which, like me, were rooting for the visiting team. The camaraderie was incredible! We drowned out the home crowd with "LET'S GO BEARS!" chants and we even sang the fight song at the top of our lungs when Charles Tillman ran an interception back for a touchdown! It truly was unbelievable, and if you're not a sports fan, there's really no good way to explain that feeling of being part of a crowd like that. But I will tell you this, if you ever end up in that situation, you'll be hooked for life! <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lChI43m7mUY/UPU6U-gfbjI/AAAAAAAAAIw/ihIYoCH5fL4/s1600/9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lChI43m7mUY/UPU6U-gfbjI/AAAAAAAAAIw/ihIYoCH5fL4/s400/9.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That dude in the background might've been the last Cardinals fan there that day!</td></tr></tbody></table>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-9012049563656006552012-02-12T01:40:00.000-07:002012-02-12T01:40:48.228-07:00GMMM-Sundance 2012 Part 2: A Wacky Doc, Homemade Surgery and A Couple Shorts!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-edFIjplN_SQ/TzS8qRxPYnI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rYXCzEwk7t4/s1600/IMG_0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-edFIjplN_SQ/TzS8qRxPYnI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rYXCzEwk7t4/s200/IMG_0070.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>Here we go with the next batch of reviews from The 2012 Sundance Film Festival! If you haven't read the first batch, click <a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/2012/02/golf-monster-movie-madness-2012.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Today, I'm going to review two features and two shorts. Away we go!<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEAkKkegqZo/TzS-Vmns8MI/AAAAAAAAAGM/8_EhugzG1Bs/s1600/Room237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEAkKkegqZo/TzS-Vmns8MI/AAAAAAAAAGM/8_EhugzG1Bs/s200/Room237.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085910/" target="_blank">ROOM 237</a><br /><br />Directed by: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0038896/" target="_blank">Rodney Ascher</a><br /><br />The best part about Sundance, is the wide variety of documentaries that play every year at the festival. In a given year anywhere from fifteen to thirty documentaries play, so there's a better than average chance that no matter what you are into, you are probably going to find something that piques your interest. With the special access to the directors through the normal post-screening Q&amp;A sessions, you can get even deeper into the subject at hand than even what's on the screen.<br /><br />I've been getting into <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000040/" target="_blank">Stanley Kubrick</a> a lot lately. The guy had a fascinating career which lasted 48 years, but yielded only thirteen feature films before his passing in 1999. With incredible, sometimes bizarre imagery, experimental camera angles and bombastic storytelling, I almost look at all of his films as a work of art. Even <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120663/" target="_blank"><i>Eyes Wide Shut</i></a>. Hey, it was still nice to look at. The man built a reputation as a man with such incredible attention to detail, that almost nothing that ended up in his films was the result of an accident.<br /><br />Such a reputation can lead one to almost see things that might or might not even be there, and almost nowhere in Kubrick's cannon outside of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0062622/" target="_blank">2001: A Space Odyssey</a> </i>raises as many questions as his interpretation of Stephen King's classic tale of a family's descent into crazytown, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/" target="_blank"><i>The Shining</i></a>. That's the subject of Rodney Ascher's documentary Room 237. He interviewed five <i>Shining</i> conspiracy theorists and weaved their story together in nine chapters. It was an exhaustive film to watch, but fascinating as well. Probably not for the reasons you're thinking, though. I'll expand on that a little later though.<br /><br />One theory put forth is since there's a ton of Native American imagery in the film (anything from paintings on the wall, an abundance of Calumet baking powder in the pantry, various rugs and the fact that the famed Overlook hotel was supposedly built on a burial ground) and yet no actual Native American characters, then <i>The Shining</i> is merely a commentary on the American government's marginalization and mistreatment of the Native American people. Yet another keeps seeing the number "42" everywhere and also noticed Jack's typewriter was made by Adler, a German manufacturer. He posits that the film was a commentary on Nazi Germany and the holocaust.<br /><br />The most bizarre theory though was posited by a guy named Jay who insisted that <i>The Shining</i> was Kubrick's way of confessing to the world that the United States faked the moon landing, and he shot the footage himself! He posits that they changed the name of the evil room from the book's 217 to 237 because the moon is 237,000 miles from earth (it's actually closer to 239,000, but don't let that stop you, Jay). He also notices that the carpet outside Room 237 where Danny is playing with his trucks looks like the Cape Canaveral launch complex. And of course, when Danny stands up, he's wearing an Apollo 11 knit sweater. I don't know about you, but I'm convinced.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EAWb70H7pIc/TzdCksrYuVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/T2NNt1dTW4E/s1600/237+3+rooms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EAWb70H7pIc/TzdCksrYuVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/T2NNt1dTW4E/s320/237+3+rooms.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I see carpet like that I think either sex, or the Nyquil finally kicked in!</td></tr></tbody></table>Other things thrown out there include the&nbsp;foreshadowing&nbsp;of Jack's horrific&nbsp;necrophiliac&nbsp;sex scene because the carpet of Room 237 resembles weens and vajeens. Another lady sees minotaurs&nbsp;around every corner. And of course, the only one that make even a lick of sense, that all the changes from the book that Kubrick brought to <i>The Shining </i>film was all pretty much a big "fuck you" to Stephen King. I'm a huge fan of famous people pissing matches.<br /><br />To me though, the 800 pound gorilla in the room and the subject that wasn't even touched in the Q&amp;A (I didn't get to ask my question) is the fact that this isn't a film about <i>The Shining</i>. This is a movie about obsession. The folks interviewed for this film are more obsessed with it than I've been obsessed with anything in my life. Listening to all of these interviews, it seemed obvious to me that all of these people are at least one taco short of a combination plate. Ascher said that all of his content was gained through phone interviews and emails. We never actually meet or see any of the subjects and I'm pretty sure if we had, just about everyone else would've come up with the same conclusion that I did. These are all crazy people. But in a way, I'm kinda glad that the documentary let me come to that conclusion on my own. Like <i>The Shining</i>, I guess it's all up to interpretation. If you like The Shining, you'll like this flick. And if you read <a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/" target="_blank">Psychology Today</a>, you'll like this flick. ~ Rating: &nbsp;7 Heeeere's Johnny's out of 10<br /><br />AND NOW, A SHORT REVIEW OF A SHORT:<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FHMv85e3zeI/TzdH9zq9piI/AAAAAAAAAGc/4Tpgp5ltcTY/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FHMv85e3zeI/TzdH9zq9piI/AAAAAAAAAGc/4Tpgp5ltcTY/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1828228/" target="_blank">LAZAROV</a>: &nbsp;In Soviet Russia, dead, skinned chicken shocked back to life peck YOU! What a country!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ejRAjXgvhFg/TzdVEq-edDI/AAAAAAAAAGk/aPD9I2opUz0/s1600/Excision.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="107" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ejRAjXgvhFg/TzdVEq-edDI/AAAAAAAAAGk/aPD9I2opUz0/s200/Excision.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1984153/" target="_blank">EXCISION</a><br /><br />Directed By: <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm3160595/" target="_blank">Richard Bates Jr.</a><br /><br />Starring: AnnaLynne McCord, Traci Lords, Ariel Winter, Roger Bart, Malcolm McDowell, John Waters, Marlee Matlin<br /><br />Whoa! This one was fun. The night kicked off with the director, Richard Bates Jr. asking the audience to sing "Happy Birthday" to his producer. Then he gave the entire audience one of those Red Lobster cheese biscuits. Some real bigwigs must have been in the crowd for the midnight screening on the second to the last day of the festival to warrant that kind of bribery! He excitedly introduced the film and we got started.<br /><br />This flick centers around a semi-frumpy high school girl named Pauline. Pauline is a little different from the other kids at school. She has these bloody, bizarre sexual daydreams that she discusses with her therapist/priest, played by <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000691/" target="_blank">John Waters</a>. She asks weird questions in her sex-ed class and has a very antagonistic relationship with her math teacher, played by<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000532/" target="_blank"> Malcolm McDowell</a>. In fact, she doesn't really treat anybody, save for her sick sister Grace, with any respect at all. Kind of reminded me of the kid in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001281/" target="_blank">Bobcat Goldthwait's</a> instant classic, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1262981/" target="_blank"><i>World's Greatest Dad</i>.</a><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zmnRtHAw2rA/TzdpAwtXVWI/AAAAAAAAAG0/lGjCh7HYdzc/s1600/ExcisionSundanceGross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zmnRtHAw2rA/TzdpAwtXVWI/AAAAAAAAAG0/lGjCh7HYdzc/s320/ExcisionSundanceGross.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT??!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br />That being said, Pauline doesn't exactly get a very nurturing environment at home. Her mother, Phyllis, played by former porn starlet <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000183/" target="_blank">Traci Lords</a>, in what could be a career defining role (if all that other stuff didn't define her career first), is the very definition of your stereotypical right-wing, ultrachristian, domineering mother that roams your nightmares. She completely dominates her husband, played meekly by <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0498353/" target="_blank">Hostel II</a>'s</i> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0058372/" target="_blank">Roger Bart</a>. Phyllis is so driven to make Pauline into a "proper lady" that she results in pushing her further and further down the proverbial rabbit hole. Pauline's behavior got progressively more bizarre as the film went on, resulting in a climax that was so strange, that it must be seen to be believed. I can't even begin to describe it. Just think of four words, "surgery in the garage."<br /><br />One of the things I wrote in my notes as the film progressed was that every known actor, save for Malcolm McDowell, seemed to be playing against type. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1715118/" target="_blank">AnnaLynne McCord</a> looks nothing like a 90210 princess. John Waters as a priest? Yeesh! And then there's Traci Lords who is an absolute tour de force here. Very&nbsp;reminiscent&nbsp;of one of my favorite horror flick performances ever, that being <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001453/" target="_blank">Piper Laurie</a> in <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0074285/" target="_blank">Carrie</a>.</i> Hopefully, this will open some doors for her, because, believe it or not, she is a pretty capable actress. This movie was fun and some of the images will stick with you. &nbsp;~ Rating: &nbsp;7 Red Wings out of 10<br /><br />AND NOW, ANOTHER SHORT REVIEW OF A SHORT:<br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QFvWe929EEU/Tzdr8vp5q7I/AAAAAAAAAG8/Ym3H68w7TAU/s1600/once-it-started-by-kelly-sears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="112" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QFvWe929EEU/Tzdr8vp5q7I/AAAAAAAAAG8/Ym3H68w7TAU/s200/once-it-started-by-kelly-sears.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kind of wish the filmmaker had had taken the hint.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1954705/" target="_blank">ONCE IT STARTED IT COULD NOT END OTHERWISE</a>: &nbsp;Bunch of high school yearbook photos superimposed over pictures of what looks like an abandoned mental hospital zoom across the screen while creepy synth music plays. Kinda sucked.<br /><br />I'll wrap up my Sundance coverage in a couple days! &nbsp;Let me know what you think!<br /><br />The Golf Monster's 2012 End Of The World Movie Rankings:<br />6. Once It Started It Could Not End Otherwise*<br />5. Lazarov*<br />4. Black Rock<br />3. Excision<br />2. Room 237<br />1. V/H/S<br />*Shorts<br /><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-30924394094488584182012-02-04T03:04:00.000-07:002012-02-04T03:04:01.687-07:00Golf Monster Movie Madness: 2012 Sundance Reviews Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x3pbjhunp0o/Tyua-8Mo1NI/AAAAAAAAAFc/8sjFlRGKUoo/s1600/IMG_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x3pbjhunp0o/Tyua-8Mo1NI/AAAAAAAAAFc/8sjFlRGKUoo/s200/IMG_0071.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>Welcome to Hollywood folks! &nbsp;The 2012 Sundance Film Festival blew through Salt Lick, Park City and Ogden of all places last week, bringing with it swarms of Ugg boots, extra long lines at the coffee house and a traffic nightmare in Park City (more than five cars on the road). It also brought our first decent snowstorm of the year. This resulted in plenty of extra time off for your humble Golf Monster to watch a metric shitload of independent films, some of which, might wind up at a multiplex near you in the next year.<br /><br />When the dust cleared, my buddy VodkaRob and I saw seven feature films and two shorts, nearly doubling the number of films we saw last year. The films ran the gamut from straight up horror to abstract art-house fare, with a wacky documentary thrown in for good measure. Since we saw so many, I'm going to split my reviews up into two or three parts to make them a little easier to digest. I'll give a little review and rate it for you. Hopefully ya'll get the chance to see some of these down the road. As always, THERE BE SPOILERS AHEAD!<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lihUXVgPvFk/TyugETiXpoI/AAAAAAAAAFk/vvIzEXjoNzw/s1600/BlackRock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lihUXVgPvFk/TyugETiXpoI/AAAAAAAAAFk/vvIzEXjoNzw/s200/BlackRock.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1930294/" target="_blank">BLACK ROCK</a><br />Starring: &nbsp;Katie Aselton, Kate Bosworth, Lake Bell, Jay Paulson, Anslem Richardson, Will Bouvier<br /><br />Directed by: Katie Aselton<br /><br />DAMMIT! I hate it when I build something up to be better than it actually ends up being. Only to have it disappoint. When tickets first went on sale to the general public, this one was completely sold out. VodkaRob and I are huge fans of the incredibly raunchy FX show <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1480684/" target="_blank">The League</a></i>, about a bunch of whackaloons that play fantasy football and bust each other's balls. It's a lot funnier than that particular description would make you think, trust me. Anyway, <i>Black Rock</i> was written and directed by two of that show's stars, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1051221/" target="_blank">Katie Aselton</a> and her husband <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0243233/" target="_blank">Mark Duplass</a>, who also happen to the two of the standard-bearers of the "mumblecore" indie film movement, so this was definitely a hot ticket. I decided that we had to see this flick, so I dragged my ass out of bed at 6:00AM the day of the show to be at the ticket office when it opened at 8:00 for a shot at some "last chance" tickets that typically get opened up that day. Evidently, half of this town had the same idea because the line snaked its way throughout the Trolley Square mall. Awesome, I love lines. After a solid three hour wait, I managed to snag two of the last tickets to the show. This ought to be good!<br /><br />The line to get in to the theater stretched all the way to the end of the block by the time VodkaRob and I arrived. A bunch of us huddled in the cold around the quarter-inch speaker on my phone to listen to the Giants overtime win in the NFC Championship. We finally got into the building at about 8:30 and managed to find a couple seats. Sadly, and this is a first for pretty much every screening I've attended in the last eight years, this particular screening wasn't attended by any of the stars or crew. As I was saying last week, the unique thing about Sundance is the chance to interact with the director and stars. It wouldn't be our first disappointment of the night.<br /><br />Despite the hoopla surrounding this flick (it was the first major film purchased at the festival this year), it fell pretty flat. The film follows three childhood friends as they reunite in their early 30's for a camping trip to an isolated island off the coast of Maine. <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0098378/" target="_blank">Kate Bosworth's </a>character, Sara, brings her old friends Abby (Aselton) and Lou (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1128572/" target="_blank">Bell</a>) together for the first time since the latter two had a major falling out. It felt like they were trying for character development, but the sheer bitchiness of the characters did nothing to make me feel any real empathy towards them. They come across three dudes on the supposedly deserted island and proceed to get shitfaced drunk with them. That's when things get a little uncomfortable and a little rapey with Abby and one of the guys. When she accidentally kills the guy in self defense, his buddies force the ladies into a war of attrition to escape the island.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uu_AY-bbP24/Tyupi_PvMYI/AAAAAAAAAFs/FXzr5rqUk3c/s1600/Katie-Aselton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uu_AY-bbP24/Tyupi_PvMYI/AAAAAAAAAFs/FXzr5rqUk3c/s320/Katie-Aselton.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The movie kinda sucked, so here's a picture of Katie Aselton in a Brian Urlacher jersey to dull the pain.</td></tr></tbody></table>In reading some interviews, Aselton and Duplass admitted that they wrote the screenplay in "about sixteen hours," and it definitely showed. The whole story felt rushed, the line delivery was wooden and stiff, and what little action there was seemed drawn out and a bit unrealistic. It didn't seem like anyone in this movie really gave a shit, let alone respected the "thriller" genre at all. I really wanted to like this movie, but in the end, it just wasn't very good. Still, it wasn't as bad as <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1686327/" target="_blank">The Oregonian</a>. &nbsp;~ Rating: &nbsp;4 Sacko Bowls out of 10<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LMLLl8qScUk/Tyw8l19d7QI/AAAAAAAAAF0/2VsYfVvpJS8/s1600/VHS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="108" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LMLLl8qScUk/Tyw8l19d7QI/AAAAAAAAAF0/2VsYfVvpJS8/s200/VHS.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2105044/" target="_blank">V/H/S</a><br />Starring: Calvin Reeder, Lane Hughes, Adam Wingard, basically a bunch of people you've never heard of.<br /><br />Directed by: &nbsp;David Bruckner, Glen McQuaid, Joe Swanberg, Ti West, Adam Wingard, Radio Silence (A group of four dudes known for horror shorts on youtube)<br /><br />A lot has been made in recent years about the "found footage" style of filmmaking. And there's something to be said for movies that can provide the scares of a big-budget horror flick and shoot it on cameras that you can pick up at your local hi-fi shop (do they even have those anymore?). Something about it makes it seem a little more real. And that can be pretty scary stuff. Say what you will about <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0185937/" target="_blank">The Blair Witch Project</a></i>, but they made it for something like ten bucks and scared a good chunk of its audience at the time SHITLESS. It also made millions of dollars despite the small original investment. It was pretty much the most profitable movie since <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deep_Throat_(film)" target="_blank"><i>Deep Throat</i></a> back in the 70's. Others have tried to repeat that formula, and have mostly failed. And there's even been a few big-budget versions such as <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1060277/" target="_blank">Cloverfield</a></i>, and even <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1179904/" target="_blank">Paranormal Activity</a></i>, but rarely are they scary or thrilling, and mostly people just complain about the shaky camera work. That's not to say&nbsp;<i>V/H/S</i>&nbsp;doesn't have plenty of that, but it also has a shitload of genuine scares, thrills and fucked up imagery. That makes this the next great American horror anthology in the tradition of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083767/" target="_blank">Creepshow</a></i>, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0069341/" target="_blank">Tales From The Crypt</a></i>, and <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0100740/" target="_blank">Tales From The Darkside</a></i>.<br /><br />The film features five shorts loosely held together by a wraparound story. That story features a group of five guys that make mayhem videos and upload them to the internet. "What's a mayhem video?" you may ask. Well it's pretty much what the name implies, they tape themselves breaking into houses, smashing shit up, harassing pedestrians, you name it. Why anyone would want to watch that shit is beyond me. Oh wait, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0264263/" target="_blank">Jackass</a></i> made millions at the theater, so yeah, I guess there's an audience for that. Anyway, they are hired by an unknown benefactor to break into this shifty looking house and steal a single VHS tape. They aren't told what is on the tape, only that "they'll know it when they see it." When they arrive at the house they find a dead body sitting in a chair, surrounded by static-y televisions, VCR's and hundreds of tapes. Logic would dictate that you grab a garbage bag, stuff all the tapes in it and get the hell outta dodge, but then again, it's plotholes like that that make the wraparound story the weakest part of the anthology in most cases. So they start watching tapes and they get progressively more jacked up the more they watch.<br /><br />The first short, titled "Amateur Night" features the tale of three frat bros doing shit bros do. There might've even been some icing involved. They get the idea to rig up a minicam into a pair of eyeglasses so that one of them can film the evening's exploits completely through his point of view without anyone being the wiser. They pick up a couple ladies at the bar and retire to a local motel where more drunken shennanigans and some sexytime ensues. Sadly the fellas don't realize until it's too late that one of their objects of affection for the evening isn't exactly human and she proceeds to absolutely WRECK THEIR SHIT. This section, along with the beginning of the wraparound story moved a bit slow, but when it hit, it hit HARD. So much so, that when our eyeglass camera wearing buddy suffers a pretty gruesome injury, at least one person at the screening bolted from the theater and hurled all over the lobby. &nbsp;GOOD TIMES!<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EP4OpdjUBXo/TyznCGcHghI/AAAAAAAAAF8/JrDEfLIdMVg/s1600/000rsw0c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="138" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EP4OpdjUBXo/TyznCGcHghI/AAAAAAAAAF8/JrDEfLIdMVg/s200/000rsw0c.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeesh!</td></tr></tbody></table>After a brief interlude with the wraparound characters, our mayhem loving friends popped in the second tape, titled, "Second Honeymoon." This one featured a newlywed couple road-tripping through Arizona on their honeymoon and for whatever reason, they decided to videotape the whole thing. They film everything from hiking the grand canyon to your typical dude ranch and ghost town touristy shit. The husband even attempted to film a little sexytime back at the motel and as he's being rebuffed, there's a knock at the door. He answers, closes and locks the door and is clearly shaken. He's no longer "in the mood" so they decide to turn the camera off and go to bed. When the camera comes back on in the middle of the night, that's when shit got creepy. Creepy enough to get a collective gasp from the entire theater, and a "Jeezus Christ!" outta me. The twist in this story came straight outta left field, and yes, there was some more blood spilled. <br /><br />We return to the wraparound story briefly and I noticed something was a little different about the room where they were watching these tapes. They then inserted the third tape titled "Tuesday The 17th" which featured more douchey college kids doing more douchey college kid things in the woods. Christ, I hope I wasn't like that when I was in college. *<i>reads back through some of my "<a href="http://thegolfmonster.blogspot.com/2011/01/in-which-our-hero-returns-with-another.html" target="_blank">Dorm Days" stories</a></i>* ahem, forget everything I just said. Anyway, these kids are romping through the woods, smoking grass, skinny dipping and telling scary stories and videotaping it all when they realize they aren't alone out there. But one of them seems to know a little more about what is going on than the others. Then the camera starts to flicker, and people start dying.<br /><br />"The Strange Thing That Happened To Emily When She Was Younger" was the penultimate short in this film and it might've been the most creative of the bunch. According to the director during the after-film Q&amp;A, the entire segment was filmed and recorded with Skype. Pretty cool! This one features an attractive gal named Emily chatting over Skype with her boyfriend who is a couple states away in med-school. As their series of chats goes on, she starts hearing strange noises in her apartment. He can't see what's going on too clearly, but we can. HOLY SHIT CREEPY GHOST KID! For my money, there's nothing creepier than that! I clearly have issues. Anyway, the haunting continues as time goes on, and she starts developing these weird sores on her arm, and slipping more and more into crazytown. That's when things get even weirder, and like all the stories so far, there's a hint of a double-cross in there somewhere. This one was actually funny in parts and pretty chilling as well.<br /><br />The wraparound story concludes in somewhat predictable fashion and finally we are treated to a final segment, titled "10-31-98." Directed by viral horror video sensations <a href="http://www.radiosilenceproductions.com/" target="_blank">Radio Silence</a>, who Ain't It Cool News described as the Broken Lizard of horror movies. This one follows a group of four guys on Halloween, 1998 (with one of them dressed as a nanny-cam) going to a party. Unfortunately, they take a wrong turn somewhere and end up at a giant house that seems empty, but all the doors are unlocked, and the lights are on. They roam throughout the house, thinking that they're going to stumble on a surprise party of sorts and instead stumble on what appears to be some kind of human sacrifice going on in the attic. At this point, the douchey guys decide to stop being douchey and start being heroes. And then all hell breaks loose. This Radio Silence group is going to do some great work down the road, as they created some pretty incredible effects on a shoestring budget. This flick ended on a high note and was pretty much my favorite horror film that I saw at the festival this year. This is one that definitely will see a wide release later this year. And then we can finally shovel some dirt on the found footage genre, because it's never going to be this good again. &nbsp;~ Rating: &nbsp;8.5 Severed Limbs out of 10<br /><br />This year, I'll review every film I see in the theater here on the blog and since this is America and we love lists, I'll rank them as time goes on.<br /><br />The Golf Monster's 2012 End of the World Movie Rankings:<br />2. Black Rock<br />1. V/H/S<br /><br />More Sundance reviews coming up in a couple days!Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-14845566038762786762012-01-23T15:48:00.000-07:002012-01-23T15:48:33.685-07:00The Golf Monster Goes Hollywood!Typically my Winters are kind of a dreary time for me. The weather puts a damper on business so I typically have an abundance of time off. As you know, "idle hands do the devil's work," so I often spend a good chunk of January and February doing things I probably shouldn't be doing, causing possibly irreparable damage to myself in the process. But every late January, a little culture invades our area of the country and shakes things up a bit, and I look forward to it every year. I'm talking about the <a href="https://www.sundance.org/festival/" target="_blank">Sundance Film Festival</a>. <br /><br />The Festival kicked off this past weekend here in Salt Lick and up in Park City, bringing with it, it's share of celebrities, what passes for "musicians" these days, starstruck onlookers and grumbling locals that hate anything different coming their way. I first started going to the festival way back in 2004 when my buddy Nick and I attended the documentary premiere of <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0387412/" target="_blank">Metallica: &nbsp;Some Kind of Monster</a></i>. Say what you will about the film's content or subject matter, but this was a totally different kind of movie watching experience. There were no screaming kids, everyone was polite and the filmmakers, Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky (the cats that produced the <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0117293/" target="_blank">Paradise Lost</a></i> trilogy about the West Memphis 3) actually gave their own insight before the screening and had a Q&amp;A session after it was over. The ability to interact with the people "making the sausage" if you will turned me from just a casual fan of movies into a guy that was very interested in the whole process of film making and the stories behind it.<br /><br />In subsequent years, I've added the amount of Festival films screenings that I've attended. I tend to avoid the "big" premieres featuring your typical Hollywood megastars. There's a better than average chance those movies will secure wide distribution and you'll be able to see them anyway. Instead we typically shoot for documentaries and weird, quirky, and often times pretty gruesome films that aren't likely to reach a wide audience any time soon. Sometimes, they're great, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1588170/" target="_blank">I Saw The Devil</a></i>, a Korean revenge movie, was the third best movie that I saw all of last year. Sometimes, not so much.<i> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1686327/" target="_blank">The Oregonian</a></i> might have been the shittiest film I've seen in my entire life. Last year, with my buddy VodkaRob and my sister, I attended four features that were paired with three shorts. This year we're due to see six features this week. Here's a quick preview. I'll be doing reviews of each after it's all over.<br /><br /><b>THE FEATURES:</b><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1930294/" target="_blank"><b>BLACK ROCK</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-trDIrfqP99A/Tx3FWa1SdLI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ZwiM5-dHa-c/s1600/MV5BMzI5MTk1ODkyMV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTMxMjMxNw%2540%2540._V1._SY317_CR104%252C0%252C214%252C317_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-trDIrfqP99A/Tx3FWa1SdLI/AAAAAAAAAEk/ZwiM5-dHa-c/s200/MV5BMzI5MTk1ODkyMV5BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMTMxMjMxNw%2540%2540._V1._SY317_CR104%252C0%252C214%252C317_.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>Starring: &nbsp;Katie Aselton, Kate Bosworth, Lake Bell, Jay Paulson<br />Directed by: &nbsp;Katie Aselton<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;Sara invites her childhood friends Abby and Lou, on a reunion trip to a remote island in Maine. There will be laughter, tears and boozy catharsis. It's the sort of weekend that can transform the three into fully realized, grown-ass women. You already know this movie right? Wrong.<br />Emotional release will come, but this is no weepy ballad of&nbsp;reconciliation. Working from a script by her husband, Mark Duplass, Katie Aselton returns to the festival with a taut, satisfying thriller. As the danger rises, the gorgeous cinematography transforms the bucolic island into sinister and&nbsp;formidable&nbsp;terrain. Kate Bosworth, Lake Bell and director Aselton capitalize on the material and deliver remarkable performances, imbuing moments of unbearable suspense with raw emotion.<br />So get your chick-flick jollies somewhere else! The women of <i>Black Rock</i> have to confront something far more dangerous - and heavily armed - than their <i>feelings</i>.<br /><br />My take: Wasn't terribly excited about this one until I saw who put it together. I'm a huge fan of the highly crude, yet fucking hilarious show on FX called <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1480684/" target="_blank">The League</a></i>. And both director/star Katie Aselton and writer Mark Duplass are two of the anchors of the ensemble cast of that show. So this is worth taking a flyer on based on that alone. And hey, Bosworth played Lois Lane, so she's got that going for her.<br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2105044/" target="_blank"><b>V/H/S</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qx98oIcw5Tk/Tx3LMKDJ5KI/AAAAAAAAAEs/zNTJHEpL8XM/s1600/vhs1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qx98oIcw5Tk/Tx3LMKDJ5KI/AAAAAAAAAEs/zNTJHEpL8XM/s200/vhs1a.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Starring: &nbsp;Joe Swanberg, Adam Wingard, Sophia Takal, Calvin Reeder<br />Directed by: Adam Wingard, Glenn McQuaid, Radio Silence, David Bruckner, Joe Swanberg, Ti West<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;When a group of petty criminals is hired by a mysterious party to retrieve a rare piece of found footage from a rundown house in the middle of nowhere, they soon realize the job isn't going to be as easy as they thought. In the living room a lifeless body holds court before a hub of old television sets, surrounded by stacks upon stacks of VHS tapes. As they search for the right one, they are treated to a seemingly endless number of horrifying videos, each stranger than the last.<br /><br />My take: It seems like this one is right up my fucked up alley. I love the weird stuff. There are two red flags though. First, there's SIX directors. Could be a case of too many cooks spoiling the soup. And then there is the involvement of Calvin Reeder, the "visionary" behind the shittiest film I've ever seen, <i>The Oregonian</i>. &nbsp;Could be trouble.<br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085910/" target="_blank"><b>ROOM 237</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SA1OLXc4oOc/Tx3PPJu2OcI/AAAAAAAAAE0/j10IPw2JIkM/s1600/tumblr_lvspyjZbW61qaezqco1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SA1OLXc4oOc/Tx3PPJu2OcI/AAAAAAAAAE0/j10IPw2JIkM/s200/tumblr_lvspyjZbW61qaezqco1_500.jpg" width="134" /></a></div>Director: Rodney Ascher<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;Have you ever seen a hidden message?<br />In 1980 Stanley Kubrick released his classic horror film, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081505/" target="_blank">The Shining</a></i>. Loved and hated in equal numbers, the film is considered a genre standard by many loyalists, while others viewers dismiss it as the lazy result of a director working far below his talent level. In between these two poles, however, live the conspiracy theories of ardent fans who are convinced they've decoded <i>The Shining</i>'s secret messages regarding genocide, government conspiracy, and the nightmare we call history.<br /><br />My take: Kubrick was awesome. <i>The Shining</i> is awesome. A documentary about Kubrick and <i>The Shining</i> has got to be awesome, right? &nbsp;We'll see.<br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1984153/" target="_blank"><b>EXCISION</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L_W_i9CVnTc/Tx3R_piHE7I/AAAAAAAAAE8/c7A-ASZ60Ho/s1600/exc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L_W_i9CVnTc/Tx3R_piHE7I/AAAAAAAAAE8/c7A-ASZ60Ho/s200/exc.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>Starring: &nbsp;AnnaLynne McCord, Traci Lords, Ariel Winter, Roger Bart, Jeremy Sumpter, John Waters<br />Directed by: Richard Bates Jr.<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;Pauline isn't your typical teen. She picks scabs, dissects roadkill and fantasizes about performing surgery on strangers. Her fascinations disturb her parents and her classmates. Pauline reserves special disdain for "the church" and her "therapist," Reverend William, who, in Pauline's mind, is in no position to judge, or indulge in, her psychosexual fantasies. No one understands Pauline except for Grace, her younger sister, who suffers from cystic fibrosis. An outcast at school and at home, Pauline decides she is ready to lose her virginity...and this is where the weirdness really begins.<br /><br />My take: HOLY SHIT! &nbsp;LOOK AT ALL THE BLOOD! Plus, you've got the involvement of John Waters and Traci Lords. Should be awesome. Evidently this one has been making the festival circuit for several years now and just now made the Sundance cut. So who knows how much they had to punch it up to get it in.<br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2040560/" target="_blank"><b>THE PACT</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2remt8-bFMU/Tx3VuJYvlFI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Yl5YicZDcQU/s1600/ThePactPoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2remt8-bFMU/Tx3VuJYvlFI/AAAAAAAAAFE/Yl5YicZDcQU/s200/ThePactPoster.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>Starring: &nbsp;Caity Lotz, Casper Van Dien, Haley Hudson, Sam Ball<br />Directed by: Nicholas McCarthy<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;Annie returns home to attend her much-despised mother's funeral as a favor to her older sister. Sleeping in her old bedroom, Annie senses something unfamiliar in the house. She enlists the help of a local cop and a clairvoyant to answer some questions surrounding her mother's death. As long-repressed nightmares begin to haunt Annie's life again, an unsettling presence emerges in her childhood home.<br /><br />My take: &nbsp;This film debuted at last year's festival as a short. It played before the aforementioned <i>The Oregonian</i> and completely blew it out of the water. There wasn't time for your normal horror movie payoff, but the tension built up in the short was insane. I'm pretty excited to see a fully fleshed-out version of that film. <br /><br /><b>THE SHORTS:</b><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1828228/" target="_blank"><b>LAZAROV</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSkEKcDjjr4/Tx3ZzkgfANI/AAAAAAAAAFM/heujIpxUS3c/s1600/120147-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSkEKcDjjr4/Tx3ZzkgfANI/AAAAAAAAAFM/heujIpxUS3c/s200/120147-2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Starring: Nietov<br />Directed by: Nietov<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;Refusing to accept the decline of the USSR, a handful of Russian scientists work secretly to&nbsp;resurrect&nbsp;Soviet power through the mysterious program, Lazarov.<br /><br />My take: Hell and yes. This one is paired with<i> Excision </i>and from the short trailer I've seen, it looks like an entry into the "found footage" genre. The holy grail of which is stuff from behind the Iron Curtain. For a good example check out Metallica's music video for <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=spsnQWtsUFM" target="_blank">All Nightmare Long</a></i>. The movie is only five minutes, but it looks pretty cool.<br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1954705/" target="_blank"><b>ONCE IT STARTED IT COULD NOT END OTHERWISE</b></a></i><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C-qK7H57Cq8/Tx3cC5i7JaI/AAAAAAAAAFU/KNvJaoX6tk8/s1600/120165-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C-qK7H57Cq8/Tx3cC5i7JaI/AAAAAAAAAFU/KNvJaoX6tk8/s200/120165-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Starring: Who knows?<br />Directed by: Kelly Sears<br /><br />Official Description: &nbsp;A mysterious force invades a 1970's high school.<br /><br />My take: Short and sweet. &nbsp;Might be good, it might suck. They don't give us a hell of a lot to go on here. &nbsp;It screens with The Pact.<br /><br />So there you have it. This is going to be a very interesting week of movie watching. &nbsp;But like I said before, it's not just the entertainment value that makes these screenings worth it, it's the educational insights into the independent film-making process and the interactivity with those involved in making these films that make this festival a "must attend" event year in and year out. For my Utah friends, I encourage the hell out of you to get out and see some of these movies. The vast majority won't see the light of day otherwise. And it's only fifteen bucks a feature, which isn't all that more expensive than a usual night at the movies anyway! The American version of Cannes is in our backyard folks, give it a shot! Reviews coming up next week!Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-10383020273915903552011-12-21T01:33:00.000-07:002011-12-22T17:40:58.091-07:00Time Just Fades The Pages In My Book Of Memories...Well, the air outside is freezing-ass cold and so filthy you can taste it. The grass is turning random shades of brown and there's barely enough time after the frost comes off to finish eighteen holes these days. Yep, it's Winter, and that means I finally have some time to sit down and put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, or something to something. After a summer in which I finally achieved some success, made a competitive comeback, fell back into some bad habits and ultimately walked away from my dream, I've got some shit to get off my chest. And in the next couple months, I'm going to cover that and a whole lot more. It's time to GET IT ON!<br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div>Last week&nbsp;Guns N' Roses made their way back to Salt Lick for the first time since the <i>Use Your Illusion</i> era, eighteen years ago. In that span a whole lot of things have changed. Everybody knows that the band is completely different these days. Lunatic frontman, Axl Rose, is the only member left from the famed <i>Appetite For Destruction</i> lineup.&nbsp; In the&nbsp;twenty years&nbsp;since <i>Appetite </i>era drummer, and famed coke fiend, Steven Adler quit/got shitcanned, the band has gone through almost as many lineup changes as my beloved Chicago Bears have had starting quarterbacks.&nbsp; Yet still, Axl remains, after eighteen different members have come and gone and come back and went away again, he's the only really consistent thing about that band anymore.&nbsp; <br /><br />In that same period of time, my own life has taken many turns as well. Even in my early teenage years, where every kid is a crazy, loud asshole, well I was still and asshole, but a quiet and reserved asshole. Thinking back, I kinda was the creepy kid in the back of the classroom that liked reading non-age appropriate novels and listening to oldies bands that went out of fashion twenty years previous. But I did play baseball, and I was pretty good at it so nobody gave me any shit. As much as I loved it though, the game eventually started to feel more like work than anything else. So I took up golf, simply because it was something almost nobody my age was doing at the time. In fact, since this was the pre-Tiger Woods era, playing golf was about the least cool thing you could probably do at that age.<br /><br />But a new kid came to school in the ninth grade, Bryan, a big Texan kid and the first person my age that I knew could swing a club. Together we were the lone freshman kids on the Carbon High golf team that season and through that, we started hanging out. He was really one of the first post-baseball world friends that I had where we'd hang out other than at school or practice. It was Bryan that introduced me to one of the segments of pop culture that have really defined me in the last twenty years, the world of hard rock and heavy metal.<br /><br />As I mentioned before somewhere along the line, we didn't have much for local radio in Price. We had a right-wing talk station, a soft rock station, six or seven country stations (at least that's what it seemed like) and the one I gravitated towards (because that's all my dad listened to), the oldies station. We had cable, but outside of <i>Remote Control</i>, I didn't watch a ton of MTV back then. Of course, why would I?&nbsp; Most of the bands I knew and loved at the time had their heyday twenty years before then! I think I was hipster before hipster was hipster! But I remember vividly, always stopping while flipping channels by three videos in particular:&nbsp; Bon Jovi's "Living on a Prayer," Metallica's "Enter Sandman," and Guns N' Roses' "November Rain." So I kinda always was a closet hard rock fan, but I felt like I'd painted myself in a corner as far as my musical tastes go. I was so scared to fucking death of looking ignorant discussing it, because it was one of the few things I didn't feel like I had and encyclopedic knowledge of and because I was so afraid of being considered "uncool." I ultimately didn't realize that I was already the least cool kid in my hometown (which considering where I grew up put me in contention for least "with it" guy nationwide,) simply because I was always afraid of being true to myself. In other words, a typical teenager.<br /><br />In keeping with the trend of staying about ten years behind the times, I got my first stereo and Sony Discman for Christmas in '95 and began spending almost all of my job and lawn mowing money building a music collection.&nbsp; My first two CD's:&nbsp; <i>The Best of The Doors</i>, and the soundtrack to <i>The Big Chill</i>. I WAS 16 GOING ON 50! But in the Summer of '96 things kicked into high gear as far as my musical education goes. We had a full-fledged group now. Bryan, Odie, Jahon, White Chocolate, Trey, Olie and myself formed our very own band of idiots. Also that Summer, Bryan introduced "The Tape."<br /><br />"The Tape" was a mixtape he had made containing all the popular standards of heavy music from back then, Metallica, Megadeth, GN'R, Ozzy Osbourne, Nirvana, Alice In Chains, Van Halen and more. We played that fucking thing back to back in Bryan's "Pimp-Mobile," a shit-brown 1982 Buick Regal, all summer long. And while the grunge tunes didn't excite me too much, I was fiercely attracted to the speed and power of the thrash bands, the technical mastery of Eddie Van Halen and Randy Rhoads, and the sleazy swagger of Guns N' Roses. I set about spending almost every spare penny I had for the rest of my high school life finding every recording I could of the 80's hard rock and thrash bands. I'd finally found a real passion about something outside of sports that I could share with my friends. And with the way the dynamic of that group was set up, and the way we busted balls, quiet and shy no longer cut the mustard. So I was forced to discover a confidence that I never thought I had. Didn't help much with girls, hell, I still clam up and have no idea how to act cool around the ladies, but I was at least finally sociable.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1G0crVFc6uU/TvMDz6W942I/AAAAAAAAAEc/eU6JD1RrwdA/s1600/n1352757547_30230231_867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1G0crVFc6uU/TvMDz6W942I/AAAAAAAAAEc/eU6JD1RrwdA/s320/n1352757547_30230231_867.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Crew. Probably before a nice night of roadblocking or committing random acts of mischief! </td></tr></tbody></table><br />Two years later, my folks split up and my family melted down. By that time, I'd taken a couple sophomore kids (Little Nick and Ben) under my wing and brought them into the fold. I'll always be thankful for the support of my friends during that time, but I was a mess. I took up drinking as a hobby and started to retreat back into myself again. To their credit, they wouldn't let me crawl all the way in that hole. But I was a pretty pissed off guy and not happy with life in general. Other than gaining another new friend in my Junior College coach, Skwez, by the time the JC years were over I was ready to get the fuck out of town. I was ready to put it all in the rear-view and move on.<br /><br />Towards the end of that last summer, we got the whole gang back together for one last barbecue. I spent a good chunk of the evening out on the patio, brooding, pounding Miller Genuine Drafts and generally being a drag. Bryan sat down and started talking, but I wasn't in too much of a listening mood. He was talking about who was hooking up with who, how they had the dog eat some of the tapped melon and how excited but nervous he was about Metallica's upcoming album release of their collaboration with the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra, <i>S&amp;M</i>. He realized he wasn't getting through too well until he launched in with a tirade that has stuck with me since that day. My recollection for detail in that era is for shit, so I'll paraphrase:<br /><br />"Nickas, stop being a dick. Do you think you're the only one here with any problems? Tomorrow, I'm leaving for Colorado, and you're moving to Salt Lake. Tomorrow, we're both starting from square one in the friend department. Sure, there might be a few people you know in the community, but that's not going to be enough. We're both living in dorms and are going to be around strangers nonstop. Would you want to live with someone that hates the fucking world?"<br /><br />He was right. I had a real choice to make. Be the type of antisocial asshole I always was scared shitless of becoming, or at least put on a good face and be sociable. Thankfully I made the right choice. As luck would have it, or maybe it was some kind of sick experiment in the Dean's office, everyone in my dorm unit came from a broken home. Some more recently than others, but we all had that in common so we had a place to start. And we all helped each other deal with those issues that will always linger.<br /><br />It didn't take long, but soon I was no longer faking happiness, I was enjoying my place in the world. That confidence came roaring back, and soon, some of my more overbearing personality traits took over and I got LOUD. I started to preach the gospel of rock and roll to my new friends and before long, I was getting them into hard rock and metal tunes too, dragging them to shows, meeting some rock stars. I was simply excited to share my passion, and I was going to do it whether they liked it or not. It was like I didn't just come out of my shell, I completely obliterated it! Some of them probably didn't like it, but by the time school was done, I'm pretty sure they at least had an appreciation for it that they didn't have before.<br /><br />In late 2008 Guns N' Roses released their first all-original album since I was twelve years old, <i>Chinese Democracy</i>. My old college roommate, and biggest GN'R fan that I know, VodkaRob and I hit the indie record store on the very night of its release to pick it up. By then we'd both settled into careers. He was a computer tech, I'd just been promoted to Head Golf Professional at the University of Utah. And even though that record sounded absolutely nothing like the classic GN'R of my youth, and you can argue that it doesn't hold up at all, I couldn't deny that chill I got when I heard the first chord on the title track officially (heard tons of demos over the years,) for the first time. I realized that while the band was completely different, I was completely different as well. An hour later we came to the conclusion that with the exception of a few songs, that album basically sucked! But deep down, I didn't really care, I was just happy to share that experience with a friend. And folks, that's one of those things that makes life worth living. Experiencing that kind of shit with your friends.<br /><br />When I started writing this, I fully intended to do a concert review of that GN'R show from last week. Instead I had a flood of memories and got a little sidetracked. If ya'll don't mind, I'll give the review its own post later this weekend. And down the road, I'll be sharing a few stories from the shenanigans that my old crew of high school buddies and I would get into.&nbsp; Think of them as a "dorm days prequel!"</div>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-81195753488714930292011-02-26T01:56:00.003-07:002011-02-26T02:04:59.512-07:00The True Confessions of a Film Freak: Second Edition<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I've been back to work at Rose Park for the last couple weeks and that's seriously hindered my movie watching time.&nbsp; Gotta pay the bills though, right?&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Here in Salt Lick we've got a pretty sweet movie theater called <a href="http://www.brewvies.com/">Brewvies</a> that actually has a full liquor license.&nbsp; They showcase films that are kind of in that limbo area in between their prime theater run and their appearances at the dollar theater.&nbsp; So last Thursday we ventured down there and finally saw True Grit.&nbsp; Also being reviewed this week after my brief TV watching week is a film a few years old called Pauly Shore Is Dead, a documentary titled The Two Escobars, a short called Nosebleed and my Basic Cable Standard for the week, Rocky IV.&nbsp; We've got a little snow in the forecast and the Griffin Golf team is on Spring Break this week, so hopefully I'll get to see a few more movies before my next update.&nbsp; On to it!</span><br /><b><br /></b><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">THE FEATURES</span></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-zk3O3tnXhPQ/TWhg82Q8CgI/AAAAAAAAADk/pdo_w__uV7k/s1600/True+Grit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-zk3O3tnXhPQ/TWhg82Q8CgI/AAAAAAAAADk/pdo_w__uV7k/s320/True+Grit.jpg" width="204" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Hailee Steinfeld, Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, Barry Pepper, Josh Brolin</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">My little old Great Aunts down home are big western movie fans and I remember watching the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0065126/">original</a> 1969 version of this flick back with them when I was twelve years old.&nbsp; I'll be honest with ya'll, I never quite got the reverence folks had for the John Wayne.&nbsp; There's no denying The Duke had a great body of work, but for the most part, I always thought he was severely lacking range, and most of his performances seemed wooden as hell.&nbsp; His rolling over for HUAC and selling out his fellow actors and writers to that McCarthy douchebag back in the early 50's doesn't exactly make me want to root for the guy either.&nbsp; As far as westerns go, I preferred Clint Eastwood's stuff a lot more anyway. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">While I didn't like the original that much, it's a great story of frontier justice and revenge.&nbsp; So when I heard that the Coen Brothers were remaking <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1403865/">True Grit</a>, all I could think was, "that's gonna be badass!"&nbsp; Ever since Raising Arizona, those two guys will always get a lifetime pass from me.&nbsp; And holy shit, they cast <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000313/">The Dude</a> as Rooster Cogburn?&nbsp; Sign my ass up!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Bridges was fantastic as U.S. Marshall Cogburn, as was <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000354/">Matt Damon</a> as Texas Ranger LeBoeuf.&nbsp; But the breakout role belongs to newcomer <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2794962/">Hailee Steinfeld</a>.&nbsp; It's hard to think of a fourteen year old girl as a badass, but she absolutely was.&nbsp; Of course, seeing as how most folks died at 45 in those days, she may as well have been an adult.&nbsp; She took absolutely no bullshit from anyone in this flick and chewed up scenery in every act.&nbsp; Give her the Oscar!&nbsp; Of course though, it says a lot that <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000982/">Josh Brolin</a> has his name in huge letters on the poster and she gets nary a mention.&nbsp; Especially considering that he's in the movie for all of about ten minutes.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">For as huge of a flick as this was, it didn't fall into the typical trap that most epics fall into these days in that it wasn't overly long.&nbsp; In fact, I'd say this was the most well-paced Coen Brothers flick since The Big Lebowski.&nbsp; Safe to say, this was my favorite movie of 2010. &nbsp; </span><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-JuYwdMrRpWM/TWh7WxHlEoI/AAAAAAAAADo/Ixo3zExFhlE/s1600/Pauly+Shore+Is+Dead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-JuYwdMrRpWM/TWh7WxHlEoI/AAAAAAAAADo/Ixo3zExFhlE/s1600/Pauly+Shore+Is+Dead.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Pauly Shore, about a million other stars</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Back in September of 2004, I took a little vacation out to Los Angeles for a concert.&nbsp; I stayed in the Sunset Hyatt Hotel, famous for being trashed by various rock stars back in the 70's.&nbsp; Next door to the "Riot House" as it was called, is the world famous <a href="http://www.thecomedystore.com/home.html">Comedy Store</a>.&nbsp; The greatest stand-up comedy club in the world.&nbsp; On the marquee the weekend of my vacation was the message:&nbsp; "MY SON ISN'T DEAD."&nbsp; I had no idea what this meant, other than I did know that the Comedy Store was owned by Mitzi Shore, mother of 80's MTV personality and actor <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001736/">Pauly Shore</a>. &nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Three years later, I'm shopping at my favorite indie record and movie shop <a href="http://www.fatfin.com/Home">Graywhale</a>, and I saw <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0284674/">Pauly Shore Is Dead</a> on the shelf.&nbsp; I couldn't pass it up.&nbsp; Bought that sucker and was not disappointed.&nbsp; This film is a single-camera mockumentary of Pauly's life in the mid 2000's.&nbsp; Pauly in the late 80's and early 90's was never really that funny, and his movies were pretty shitty (although Carla Gugino, Joey Lauren Adams and Tia Carerre were pretty nice to look at at the time).&nbsp; Pauly in the 2000's however, was pretty much how you'd expect given the beating in popular culture just about everything from the late 80's and early 90's takes.&nbsp; Jobless and semi-destitute (although still having a couple ducats in the bank), the film begins with Pauly being evicted by his home's new owner, Carrot Top.&nbsp; Forced to move back home with his mother, he wanders LA, running into random celebrities and unsuccessfully begging for movie roles.&nbsp; He eventually takes a job parking cars at the Comedy Store. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">One night he's visited by his guardian angel, the ghost of legendary comic Sam Kinison, who advises him to kill himself so he could go down in history as a legend who died before his time.&nbsp; So he fakes his own death and becomes a media sensation with every celebrity you can think of weighing in on how much of a genius Pauly was.&nbsp; Pauly holes up in a motel room and cackles maniacally at the TV as for once, he's back on top.&nbsp; But it's only a matter of time before he gets found out. &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">This flick definitely doesn't take itself too seriously, with Pauly and the multitude of celebrities taking shot after shot at his act and career.&nbsp; It's hilarious.&nbsp; And what a lineup!&nbsp; No less than Pamela Anderson, AJ Benza, B-Real, Todd Bridges, Tommy Chong, Vern Troyer, The Dahm Triplets, Carson Daly, Ellen DeGeneres, Screech, Andy Dick, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Fred Durst, Perry Farrell, Heidi Fleiss, Paris and Nicky Hilton, Clint Howard, Kato Kaelin, Craig Kilborn, Carl LaBove, Tommy Lee, Kurt Loder, Michael Madsen, Bill Maher, Mark McGrath, Jason Mewes, Pat O'Brien, Nancy O'Dell, Sean Penn, Matt Pinfield. Sally Jesse, Chris Rock, Ja Rule, Britney Spears, Jerry Springer, Vince Vaughn, Montel Williams, Sully Erna, Whoopi Goldberg, Wes Borland, Hanson, Dexter Holland and Ben Stiller all show up to weigh in.&nbsp; It really becomes more of a game of spot the cameo as the story gets a little more ridiculous as time goes on.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">It does have some really goddamn funny scenes though, such as Corey Feldman trying to score drugs, Tom Sizemore getting emotional and tearing up about Pauly's "death" even when he's completely surrounded by half-naked hookers and Pauly getting some helpful advice from Charlie Sheen!</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nnebOJmVYvA?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-XZaATeImP0k/TWiLmYxSayI/AAAAAAAAADs/TsGCZRZPMzg/s1600/Gerardo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-XZaATeImP0k/TWiLmYxSayI/AAAAAAAAADs/TsGCZRZPMzg/s1600/Gerardo.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Would you buy produce from this man?</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Not to mention a totally awesome scene where Pauly comes across 80's Latin act Gerardo (AKA Rico Suave) who happens to be reduced to selling oranges on a freeway off-ramp.&nbsp; Beyond ridiculous, but it might've been worth the purchase for that scene alone.&nbsp; Netflix it for some mindless fun for a couple hours.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><b><br /></b><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">MY FEATURE DOC OF THE WEEK:</span></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ABZqvU8-2Zw/TWiQn-X8z6I/AAAAAAAAADw/xhcVlsTNgAA/s1600/The+Two+Escobars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ABZqvU8-2Zw/TWiQn-X8z6I/AAAAAAAAADw/xhcVlsTNgAA/s1600/The+Two+Escobars.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> Directed By:&nbsp; Jeff and Michael Zimbalist</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I'm not a fan of soccer, but for some reason I'm fascinated by the drug culture of the 70's, 80's and early 90's.&nbsp; This is kind of weird, because I'm not really a drug guy, but some of the stories are incredible.&nbsp; <a href="http://the2escobars.com/">The Two Escobars</a> chronicles the rise of soccer in Colombia in the mid 80's, and its inevitable fall after a horrible mistake costs them the 1994 World Cup. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Soccer in Columbia was pretty much in the doldrums in the early 80's.&nbsp; They had some good players, but there was no money in it back then.&nbsp; Along came Pablo Escobar, leader of the Medellin drug cartel and one of the most polarizing figures in Colombian history.&nbsp; People either felt he was Satan incarnate or a modern day Robin Hood with no in-between.&nbsp; He starts sinking thousands of dollars into the local club team, Atletico Nacional, which soon becomes class of Colombian and eventually South American soccer.&nbsp; Back then though, nobody really talked about where the money was coming from (even though they knew), but they were enjoying the spoils.&nbsp; "Narco-Soccer" ushered in a golden age for soccer in Colombia with drug lords all over the country competing with each other to have their team be the best.&nbsp; And very few ended up being as good as Nacional.&nbsp; The film examines this period as well as the violence that drove it with no qualms whatsoever.&nbsp; They even managed to score an interview in a prison with Pablo Escobar's right hand man, a dude who claimed to be personally responsible for something like 80 deaths on his own.&nbsp; Unreal. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Along side the batshit-crazy stories of violence and revolution, the film also chronicles the rise of another Escobar, Andres and his rise to fame as the captain of first Atletico Nacional and then as the undisputed leader of Colombian National team.&nbsp; By all accounts, he was a shy, spiritual, family man who did all that he could to rise above and shun the violence the drug cartels created.&nbsp; Unfortunately, his career was tied to it whether he liked it or not.&nbsp; And when he accidentally kicked the ball past his own goalie in a 1994 World Cup elimination game against the host United States, the cartels sought their bloody retribution. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">This film was incredibly dark and sad.&nbsp; I'm still no soccer fan, but the way it was edited with old game films and newsreels from Colombia as well as some classic period music kept me enthralled throughout.&nbsp; This one stands right up there with Billy Corben's <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380268/">Cocaine Cowboys</a> as two fascinating portraits of that era.</span><br /><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">AND NOW, A SHORT REVIEW OF A SHORT:</span></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YedJDvToBJk/TWidULvMAkI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QTuk21x_kDc/s1600/Nosebleed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-YedJDvToBJk/TWidULvMAkI/AAAAAAAAAD0/QTuk21x_kDc/s1600/Nosebleed.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1196950/">Nosebleed</a>:&nbsp; <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000274/">David Arquette's</a> nose starts bleeding.&nbsp; He tries to stop it.&nbsp; Sticks a bullet up his nose.&nbsp; Should've fired it out of a gun.&nbsp; </span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">THIS WEEK'S BASIC CABLE STANDARD:</span></b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-X--ei9TuKkI/TWiea4ScNuI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1gmXm01_yz8/s1600/Rocky+IV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-X--ei9TuKkI/TWiea4ScNuI/AAAAAAAAAD4/1gmXm01_yz8/s1600/Rocky+IV.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Sylvester Stallone, Dolph Lundgren, Talia Shire, Carl Weathers, Brigitte Nielsen, Burt Young, Tony Burton</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089927/">Rocky IV!</a>&nbsp; Between HBO in the late 80's, and TNT, USA and TBS since then, I'm pretty sure I've seen this movie 1327 times.&nbsp; And before I shuffle off the mortal coil, I'm pretty sure I'll see it a thousand times more.&nbsp; It's easily the most accessible Rocky flick to get into, I mean, who can't get into the old-school USA vs. USSR conflict?&nbsp; Okay, anyone not born after 1985, but I digress.&nbsp; Once again, this passes the "remote control test."&nbsp; If I see it while flipping channels, I'll watch no mater how far in this movie is. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5dPr2Xq2cK0/TWijgN45spI/AAAAAAAAAD8/30riMh0hlTA/s1600/Robotx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-5dPr2Xq2cK0/TWijgN45spI/AAAAAAAAAD8/30riMh0hlTA/s1600/Robotx.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Who didn't want one of these things to bring you beers as a kid?</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">The plot is beyond simple.&nbsp; Rocky's back on top after knocking out Mike Tyserrrrrrr... Clubber Lang in III and is seemingly content with polishing his Lamborghini and hanging out in his mansion with his wife, kid, alcoholic brother-in-law and their creepy-ass robot servant.&nbsp; He gets a call from his old adversary and unlikely trainer Apollo Creed who is looking to take on the first professional fighter out of the Soviet Union, Ivan Drago, in an exhibition match. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-GzV71ZzVuUU/TWisqqryGhI/AAAAAAAAAEE/kbE6n1jcK7c/s1600/THROWTHETOWEL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-GzV71ZzVuUU/TWisqqryGhI/AAAAAAAAAEE/kbE6n1jcK7c/s1600/THROWTHETOWEL.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">THROW IN THE FUCKING TOWEL JAGOFF!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> Oddly enough, this turns out to be a horrible idea.&nbsp; I mean c'mon, the Russian was half his age and may or may not have been a fucking cyborg!&nbsp; Anyway, Rocky ruthlessly murders Apollo by not throwing in the towel as Drago rains titanic shot after titanic shot down on Creed's head.&nbsp; This leads to the inevitable revenge match in Russia, on Christmas (OOOOOH SYMBOLISM!) with Rocky battling Drago in a fifteen round fight for the fate of the free world.&nbsp; Or something like that. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-OOwlU73bRnQ/TWiqqyyxoFI/AAAAAAAAAEA/ybTVqbWQzJU/s1600/Dragooo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-OOwlU73bRnQ/TWiqqyyxoFI/AAAAAAAAAEA/ybTVqbWQzJU/s1600/Dragooo.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">DRAGOOOOOOOOOOOO!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Along the way we're treated to no less than three badass sports-movie montages.&nbsp; The hallmark of any good sports movie of the 80's.&nbsp; First, after yet another one of his wife Adrian's wet-blanket "just give up" speeches, Rocky tears ass through the Philadelphia streets in his Lambo, going at least 150 miles an hour with a deeply contemplative look on his face as he flashes back through the series.&nbsp; As a matter of public safety, it might've been nice though if Rocky just once WATCHED THE FUCKING ROAD!&nbsp; Then there are two fantastic training montages in Russia that juxtaposed Rocky's grass roots, farmer-in-the-dell training methods (SEE HIM DIG A SLEIGH OUT OF THE SNOW!&nbsp; WATCH AS SCRAPPY ROCKY DOES CHIN-UPS IN A BARN AND LIFTS A GIANT NET OF ROCKS!) with the high-tech, steroid laced methods of his Russian killing machine rival.&nbsp; The funny thing is, that at the time in real life, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000230/">Stallone </a>was 'roided out of his mind.&nbsp; The montage is capped by shots of Rocky ditching his KGB chaperones and running up a 25,000 foot mountain in a pair of boots and a leather jacket.&nbsp; Utterly ridiculous, but fucking awesome all the same.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-UO5iQgp0jd4/TWis9uJlm3I/AAAAAAAAAEI/4zcfo6yrSdA/s1600/USAUSSR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-UO5iQgp0jd4/TWis9uJlm3I/AAAAAAAAAEI/4zcfo6yrSdA/s1600/USAUSSR.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">AMERICA!&nbsp; FUCK YEAH!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">And how about that fight!&nbsp; Forget about the ridiculous circumstances (Rocky vacating his title, no prize money, in the Soviet Union, on the Baby Jesus' Birthday) and just revel in the violence!&nbsp; If this fight were real, I'm pretty sure it would've shattered every PunchStat record in history.&nbsp; You could count the misses for each fighter on one hand!&nbsp; Back in the day, title fights went fifteen rounds instead of the twelve from the current era, and you just knew this one was going at least that far; with the (SPOILER ALERT FOR IDIOTS) hamburger faced Rocky vanquishing his Soviet foe and single-handedly ending the Cold War all in a two minute span.</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/MsJnxlXepsY?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I'm pretty sure Rocky was summarily tossed into a gulag, never to be heard from again after that.&nbsp; My cousin Pete swears he had a Poli-Sci teacher quote that speech in class once, cracking him up and getting him in trouble.&nbsp; I'd have laughed to, because between the two of us, we've both seen each of the Rocky flicks enough times that we now just refer to them as "Rocky," "II," "III," and "IV."&nbsp; We both agree that Rocky V never should've gotten out of a pitch meeting.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Sure, at this point, they're cliched, predictable, and no doubt overexposed, but if I'm ever flipping channels and I see a Rocky flick on there, I can guarantee I'll be sucked in for a couple hours at least.&nbsp; Hell, I'm pretty sure the TNT channel never would've gotten off the ground without showing this and Mad Max:&nbsp; Beyond Thunderdome on an endless loop back in the day! &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-28987378972104323422011-02-21T00:47:00.000-07:002011-02-21T00:47:00.377-07:00Why don't you have a seat...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qbQ3dwtWBXQ/TWH9V5mfTWI/AAAAAAAAADg/GQZd4LsCObw/s1600/Chris+Hansen+Child+Molestation+Fake+Issue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qbQ3dwtWBXQ/TWH9V5mfTWI/AAAAAAAAADg/GQZd4LsCObw/s200/Chris+Hansen+Child+Molestation+Fake+Issue.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">"What are you doing with that rope and a bag of Trojans?" </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">If there's one thing I love almost as much as bad movies, it's bad TV shows.&nbsp; It's really the baser elements of popular culture.&nbsp; The stuff with so little redeeming value that it almost has some in an ironic sense.&nbsp; Author Chuck Klosterman refers to this stuff as "Low Culture," and I'm hooked on it like a coke fiend.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">When NBC News' <i>Dateline</i> program started filming their <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/To_Catch_a_Predator"><i>...To Catch A Predator</i></a> series, their goal was simple.&nbsp; Expose the dangers to your teenager that creeps online pose.&nbsp; And right out of the gate, they achieved that goal.&nbsp; But like everything else in life, too much can sometimes be a bad thing.&nbsp; As they did more and more of these specials, the reactions from the viewing audience changed from the anger and shock of the proliferation of pedophiles online, to reactions of joy from the entertainment contained within each episode.&nbsp; I know I laugh at these shows a lot more than I probably should.&nbsp; I don't think that's necessarily the reaction the producers of the show intended.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">After a while, the show begins to get a little predictable.&nbsp; They show a few online chat-logs between the predator and a decoy.&nbsp; These start innocently enough (for as twisted as this shit is), but almost always devolve into said predator emailing pictures of his junk to the "kid."&nbsp; The guy shows up at a sting-house and is let in by the decoy, who always manages to stay out of the direct eyesight of the predator.&nbsp; As she steps into the back to take care of some last minute laundry, we are treated to a few uncomfortable seconds of the sicko mentally prepping himself for action. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">One beat later, the hand of god steps through the curtain.&nbsp; Chris Hansen, surely representing all of our collective judgment, walks onto the scene, along with four cameras and a boom mic; commencing to give the shell-shocked pedophile an interrogative colonoscopy.&nbsp; After two minutes of grilling, the whimpering pederast is allowed to leave the house, and makes his exit into the gentle arms of the local police department.&nbsp; The show usually wraps up with text line of each featured subject and the amount of time he received from the court.&nbsp; Simple and effective, it's public justice for the 21st century.</span><br /><br /><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wUGeIeRtnwk?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">As predictable as it can be, it's the little details that had me hooked on the show.&nbsp; Hansen's deadpan reading of the chat-logs are awesome:&nbsp; <i>MenudoFan69:&nbsp; do you like the angle of my dangle?</i>&nbsp; I love the amused look on the decoys face as she describes whatever kind of regional snack she's prepared for the predator to nosh on while she throws her soiled shirt in the off-camera washing machine.&nbsp; It's always sweet tea if they're down South, lemonade in California, and cookies or a bowl of candy anywhere else.&nbsp; The guy almost always denies he was there to do anything sexual, but for some reason always has a bag full of rubbers and either a six-pack of Miller Genuine Draft or a bottle of Boone's Farm.&nbsp; And it's always a kick to see the glimmer of hope that he is off the hook in the creep's eyes when Chris says the magic words, "You're free to leave."&nbsp; Of course that always results in about ten angry cops pinning the guy to the driveway as they slap those weird plastic handcuffs on him.&nbsp; Good times.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Sadly, they don't seem to be doing these shows anymore.&nbsp; It came to an end when a District Attorney in Texas suspected of soliciting minors committed suicide rather than face THE LONG DICK OF THE LAW.&nbsp; His family blamed the show, who was in the area filming at the time and a lawsuit was filed.&nbsp; It was later settled and NBC moved on to other stories.&nbsp; There's no doubt the show was effective, but it does bring up some legal questions.&nbsp; Chief among them are the possible entrapment issues their stings brought up, as well as a possible tainting of the jury pools in the cities in which they were filmed.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">But when you think about it, they really don't have to film anymore, do they?&nbsp; Because nobody recycles old shit better than current shallow Cable-TV, and that's where <i>...To Catch a Predator</i> lives now.&nbsp; <i>Predator Raw:&nbsp; The Unseen Tapes</i> on MSNBC shows the original stings WITH BONUS COMMENTARY!&nbsp; And even though I've seen it all before a hundred times, and I know what's going to happen, here I am on a Sunday night waiting for my fix.&nbsp; And I highly doubt that I'm the only one. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-20091316661237779772011-02-10T03:31:00.004-07:002011-02-10T23:11:28.767-07:00The True Confessions of a Film Freak: First Edition<span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">For anyone that knows me well, they know I'm a movie junkie.&nbsp; I like them all, from great movies like <i>Casablanca</i> to films that are pretty much universally considered to be tripe.&nbsp; <i>Freddie Got Fingered</i> comes to mind there.&nbsp; I like long movies, short movies, documentaries, and everything in between.&nbsp; As I was mentioning in my previous entry, I'm a regular listener to a weekly podcast called <i>The Film Vault</i> on ACE Broadcasting.&nbsp; This ought to be required listening for anyone into the cinema.&nbsp; On each show, the two hosts, Anderson Cowan and Brian Bishop spend a segment discussing the last few films each of them have watched in the previous week.&nbsp; This often leads to some frank discussion of each others tastes, and frequently involves some bustin' balls.&nbsp; Always good stuff.&nbsp; So I figured I'd bare my movie loving soul for ya'll on a weekly basis.&nbsp; I'll confess a few movies that I've watched in the last week.&nbsp; This will typically include two or three features, a documentary, and a segment on a basic cable standard, and I'll sprinkle my opinions on each.&nbsp; I'm not going to pretend to be highbrow.&nbsp; But hopefully, I can point you in the direction of some decent movies, or some horrible movies if you need a laugh.&nbsp; Oh yeah, there will be a spoiler or two, but only on the older flicks.&nbsp; Here we go!</span><br /><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: large;">The Features:</span></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hSBQw3h6p3g/TVOVQ7WKoQI/AAAAAAAAADI/UJmnaAY7Yxc/s1600/51G0YPSW53L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hSBQw3h6p3g/TVOVQ7WKoQI/AAAAAAAAADI/UJmnaAY7Yxc/s1600/51G0YPSW53L._SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(1984)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Michael Keaton, Joe Piscopo, Maureen Stapleton, Marilu Henner, Peter Boyle</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">What the hell happened to Michael Keaton?&nbsp; That guy was all over the place between <i>Night Shift</i> in 1982 and <i>Batman Returns</i> in 1992.&nbsp; It was an incredible body of re-watchable work in a ten-year span, many of which I'll be profiling in this space.&nbsp; And then, really nothing of note save for the occasional cameo here or there.&nbsp; Damn shame if you ask me.&nbsp; Dude was every bit as comfortable playing an over-the-top role (<i>Beetlejuice</i>) as he was as a straight man (Hunt Stevenson in <i>Gung Ho</i>).&nbsp; He could even play a stone-cold psychopath (Carter Hayes in <i>Pacific Heights</i>).&nbsp; He had great range. &nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0087507/"><i>Johnny Dangerously</i></a> features Keaton as a mobbed up guy with a heart of gold in a sendup of 30's gangster flicks.&nbsp; He takes up crime as a young boy as a means to pay for his mother's comically expensive surgeries.&nbsp; Joe Piscopo (who made Keaton's post '92 workload look like Bruce Willis') plays his rival in the gang, Danny Vermin.&nbsp; Great fucking name.&nbsp; Maybe the best sounding internet handle after Jackie Treehorn.&nbsp; This flick throws out sight-gag after sight-gag and wacky hijinks ensue.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">This came up on the HBO comedy channel at around 1:30 AM the other night, and that might be the best time to see it, in a sleep-deprived haze.&nbsp; </span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I must have seen this movie a hundred times growing up.&nbsp; </span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">It was one of my old man's faves.&nbsp; His favorite character being that of evil nightclub owner Roman Maronie, played by another 80's character staple, Richard Dimitri.&nbsp; Maronie unsuccessfully attempts to murder the leader of Johnny's gang and commits wholesale slaughter on the english language as shown here: </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/dv8tVxk6Nj4?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Fargin Iceholes!&nbsp; Goddamn hilarious.&nbsp; Bottom line, if you like stuff like <i>Airplane!</i>, give this a shot.</span><br /><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bsg1wj2fH2A/TVObS0cXLoI/AAAAAAAAADM/nqNlK5O7ZKU/s1600/carrie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bsg1wj2fH2A/TVObS0cXLoI/AAAAAAAAADM/nqNlK5O7ZKU/s320/carrie.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(1976)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Sissy Spacek, Piper Laurie, Amy Irving, William Katt (The Greatest American Hero!), Nancy Allen, and an if-you-blink-you-miss-him John Travolta</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Yeesh!&nbsp; <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0074285/">Carrie</a></i> was goddamn creepy the first time I saw it when I was twelve, and it still gives me the chills to this day.&nbsp; This story of a teenage misfit with telekinetic abilities taking out the frustrations of a shitty home-life on her tormentors by ruthlessly massacring them on prom night will freak you out.&nbsp; Jesus, the first time I ever saw the very last scene I nearly pissed myself, and it still gives me the douchechills!&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Director Brian De Palma's set design did a great job of making ordinary, benevolent things look strangely menacing.&nbsp; The creepy-assed St. Sebastian statue in Carrie's prayer closet is a good example.&nbsp; LOOK AT IT'S FUCKING GLOWING EYES!&nbsp; But he really gets his money's worth out of his sound designer who combined popular soft-rock songs of that era with creepy sounding organ music, and enough squeaks, screams, and bangs to create an almost Hitchcockian atmosphere.&nbsp;</span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOnM2C_m5-I/TVO5TVGcX6I/AAAAAAAAADc/qfTfA8j5-UI/s1600/Saint_Sebastian.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SOnM2C_m5-I/TVO5TVGcX6I/AAAAAAAAADc/qfTfA8j5-UI/s1600/Saint_Sebastian.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I don't know whether to pray for forgiveness or run away screaming like a kid with a skinned knee and shit</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;But the real standout star in my opinion was Carrie's psychotic, religious fundamentalist madre, played by Piper Laurie, who, sadly ended up doing mostly TV Movie of the week work after this.&nbsp; She had several awesome monologues in this movie.&nbsp; Just absolutely chewing scenery in an unreal performance.&nbsp; Here's my personal favorite: &nbsp;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/S14wY6TG6Cw?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">I LIKED IT!&nbsp; IIIIII LIKED IT!!!&nbsp; What a whackaloon!&nbsp; See this one if you haven't already.&nbsp; IFC's been playing it at night every few days lately.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;</span><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: large;">My feature Doc of the week:</span></b><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5n6QfpL5uc/TVOi69iNTHI/AAAAAAAAADQ/6oTqaQyotD8/s1600/GaslandMoviePoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5n6QfpL5uc/TVOi69iNTHI/AAAAAAAAADQ/6oTqaQyotD8/s320/GaslandMoviePoster.jpg" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(2010)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Directed by:&nbsp; Josh Fox</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1558250/"><i>GasLand</i></a> popped up on HBO last summer the day I got back from a vacation to see the Yankees in Phoenix.&nbsp; It begins with the filmmaker, Josh Fox receiving a letter from an energy company offering a few bucks to drill for natural gas on his land.&nbsp; The most popular natural gas extraction method is known as hydraulic fracturing or "fracking" in which a highly pressured mixture of water and volatile chemicals is injected deep into the ground to break up shale rock formations and release the gas. &nbsp;</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Not sure what that would do to his land, he set off across the country to see how this method of natural gas extraction is affecting the people who made the decision to allow the drilling rigs on their land.&nbsp; I know you guys want an example.&nbsp; Here ya go:</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EUySdmmXLug?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Here's the thing.&nbsp; These gas rigs are absolutely dotting the landscape all over the place these days.&nbsp; Where Saudi Arabia and "The-Iraq" have the world's largest petroleum deposits, the United States is pretty much the exact same way with natural gas.&nbsp; So there's tons of jobs at stake, and a glimmer of hope for energy independence.&nbsp; But for fucks sake, people's water shouldn't be lighting on fire.&nbsp; This flick was a real eye-opener, and it was recently nominated for an Academy Award.&nbsp; It's damn good.&nbsp; And it kinda freaked me out considering my hometown is virtually surrounded by huge natural gas fields.</span><br /><br /><b><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: large;">And now, a short review of a short:</span></b><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_of1Qz76VKE/TVOrtvlVf0I/AAAAAAAAADU/HVsfyupylYU/s1600/NEW-MOTH-POSTER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_of1Qz76VKE/TVOrtvlVf0I/AAAAAAAAADU/HVsfyupylYU/s320/NEW-MOTH-POSTER.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(2009)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1585616/"><i>Moth</i></a>:&nbsp; Hot actress burns a J, hoovers three rails, and pops a handful of pills.&nbsp; Trips out in a bathtub and sees wolves and shit.&nbsp; Kinda sucked.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">This Week's Basic Cable Standard:</span></b></span><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ga4zGCEJlis/TVOs5i2_wOI/AAAAAAAAADY/zDhyME00l0I/s1600/KKIII.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ga4zGCEJlis/TVOs5i2_wOI/AAAAAAAAADY/zDhyME00l0I/s320/KKIII.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(1989)</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Starring:&nbsp; Ralph Macchio, Pat Morita, Thomas Ian Griffith, Martin Kove, Robyn Lively, Sean Kanan </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0097647/"><i>Karate Kid 3</i></a>!&nbsp; While the first <i>Karate Kid</i> movie is an undeniable watershed moment of my formative years, the brand got a bit watered down as the years went by.&nbsp; But this one might be one of the most re-watchable of any of the multitude of unnecessary sequels to early 80's flicks that were released in the latter part of that decade.&nbsp; Simply because the plot is beyond ridiculous.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Millionaire industrialist asshole takes time away from doing whatever it is that millionaire industrialist assholes do to assist his old buddy from Vietnam's attempt to ruin the life of a high-school karate champion and resurrect their evil dojo franchise.&nbsp; After about twelve beers that actually seems to make sense.&nbsp; Sober however, it fails miserably.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">What makes this flick enjoyable are the little things you notice when you watch it for the 563rd time.&nbsp; It also benefits from a small amount of research.&nbsp; I'm fascinated by the fact that Ralph Macchio, the aforementioned Karate Kid, was actually a year older than Thomas Ian Griffith, playing Terry Silver, said billionaire industrialist asshole.&nbsp; Daniel-San was supposedly a senior in high school in this movie.&nbsp; This means Terry Silver was up to his asshole in the muck in in Southeast Asia, mowing down the North Vietnamese with John Kreese AS A ZYGOTE during the height of the Vietnam war.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> </span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Robyn Lively puts up with a lot as Jessica, replacing the iconically yummy Elisabeth Shue from the first film, as Daniel-San's apparent love interest.&nbsp; I say apparent because he seems much more interested in hanging out with a 65-year-old maintenance man than with her,&nbsp; Describing Mr. Miyagi as "my partner and best friend."&nbsp; But hey, Miyagi has the ability to massage a body part back to life.&nbsp; The jokes write themselves.&nbsp; This movie might be joining Top Gun as two of the most sneakily homoerotic movies ever made.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">It's a great testimony as to how much of an unlikeable douchebag Daniel-San was, that in three movies spanning the course of a year, three different groups of people on two different continents took time out of their busy lives to fuck with him.&nbsp; Is it any wonder that people are making homemade cuts of these flicks, casting the Cobra Kai in a more sympathetic light?&nbsp; They were obviously just misunderstood.&nbsp; STRIKE FIRST!&nbsp; STRIKE HARD!&nbsp; NO MERCY!</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/gIJ2KcJ95ks?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">This flick had a great run on basic cable throughout the 90's.&nbsp; TNT, USA, and TBS were literally built on the backs of films like this, <i>Road House</i>, <i>Rocky IV</i>, and <i>Beastmaster 2</i>.&nbsp; And now it's popping up again on Encore or HBO 8, The Ocho.&nbsp; It still passes the remote control test.</span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-18132943072915148272011-02-07T23:44:00.000-07:002011-02-07T23:44:33.169-07:00The one where a random musing reminds me of an old Dorm Days Flashback...<div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Coming up later this week will be the debut of a weekly feature here on the ‘Monster. I’m calling it the “True Confessions of a Film Freak.” If you listen to the awesome weekly podcast on ACE Broadcasting called <a href="http://www.adamcarolla.com/TFVBlog/">The Film Vault</a> (and if you aren’t, you should, it’s a must-listen for any fan of the cinema), they have a segment on each of their shows where they confess to the movies they’ve watched in the previous week. Their tastes tend to run fairly high-brow. Mine, unfortunately, do not. It’s been established that I have very little in the way of shame, so weekly here on the blog, I’m going to confess the films I’ve seen that previous week and accept your mockery.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today I was spending some time filling out a little paperwork. But it wasn’t just any paperwork; it was a Resident Advisor Candidate Recommendation Form for one of my Griffins Women golfers. She wants to be an RA next year. Now, for anyone who has read my writing, especially the stories about my college life, The Dorm Days, know I was never a big fan of rules back in the day, and would expend a foolishly ridiculous amount of effort to circumvent them. I was a moron. So the irony wasn’t lost on me as I answered some questions as to why I think she would be an awesome college dorm authority figure. She’s going to be a great RA. And not by the “college-me’s” fucked up standards, but because she’s exactly who they are looking for.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">That leads to tonight’s entry. It was one of the last on the old site before it died, so a lot of you probably missed it.&nbsp; It’s a tale of heartbreak, frustration, debauchery and redemption. This is the final classic piece of my writing from my old blog, and the last of the original “Dorm Days: The Penthouse Chronicles” stories. Don’t worry, there will be some new ones coming down the pike:&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">“The Good, Bad Week”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">(August 2001)&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Originally posted to the old blog in January, 2008&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There was a light at the end of the tunnel and it was called my senior year of college. The old digs had been abandoned. The Penthouse of Room #302 in Residence Hall #3 had finally passed on to some new denizens as Big Nick, VodkaRob and I had just moved into the newest building on campus, Residence Hall #5. The standard 6-bedroom setup was no more, now we had a choice between 2, 3, 4, and 5 bedroom apartments. In the springtime of the previous year, the administration had an open sign-up date to request roommates. Big Nick and I thought we’d give the 2-bedroom apartment a shot, but there were only three available in the new building so we figured we’d have to be the first in line to sign up, like waiting in line for concert tickets or something. So I slipped a buddy of mine on the maintenance crew twenty bucks and he let us into the Dean’s office waiting room at 5:30 in the morning. Not even the cafeteria cooks would be coming in until 6:00! We had it for sure! The cafeteria opened at 6:30 and people started crowding in around the waiting room’s locked door. They were pissed when the Dean finally showed up to unlock the door, only to find Big Nick and me already in there! Especially considering we were already her favorite targets of scorn, (see: pretty much every story up to this point!), it made it especially satisfying at the time to get our requested room.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> VodkaRob and Crazy Pete were the next ones in. In retrospect though, it turned out to be a mistake. Crazy Pete ended up getting a spot in the Navy House, and left VodkaRob on his own. Big Nick and I should’ve gotten the 3-bedroom setup with VodkaRob. As it stood, the only thing that could split up the chemistry of #302 was our own stupid decisions. We shouldn’t have left him hanging like that, and that’s one of my big regrets from that period in time. We could’ve had some fucking fun. Luckily VodkaRob ended up only two doors down in room #304, so it wasn’t like he was clear across campus or anything. Not only that, but it turned out his bedroom seemed like it was as big as Big Nick and my whole apartment! But still, it was kind of a bummer. As luck would have it Big Nick and my top-floor 2-bedroom unit had a familiar number. Yup, we were in Apartment #302 Part II!&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Anyhow, that may be the very first example of somebody starting a story off with an aside. Kids, that’s guaranteed to get you a “D” on any paper you write in the future! But fuck it, it’s been awhile, so I figured I’d better bring you folks up to speed. This story is going to chronicle the third week of school, my senior year. It was easily one of the most eventful weeks in my college life, and certainly the biggest roller coaster. I went through damn near every emotion there was that week, and still somehow came out of it with a smile on my face. We’re just gonna take this one in chronological order.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tuesday, August 28th, 2001&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I was getting ready to head to work when Coach DP called me down to his office for a chat. I should’ve known something was wrong when he was sitting in there with the athletic department’s liaison to the registrar’s office. She was the one that certified us and made sure we were all academically eligible to play our chosen sports. “We’ve got a problem Nickas,” coach said with a concerned look on his face.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What’s up?” I replied, wondering what the hell was going on.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“According to the NAIA rules of progress, we just discovered that you are 1 credit hour short over the course of the past 4 years of your eligibility. We just caught it, and we’ve filed an appeal on your behalf, because it was our mistake. But during the appeals process we’ve got to hold you out of the first two tournaments this season,” said the liaison.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Evidently I’d been borderline eligible throughout my stay at Westminster, but I had taken a just-above-full-time schedule the previous semester that pulled me a single hour short of the limit. The one summer-session class that I’d signed up for getting cancelled due to my being the only registrant didn’t help either. They explained the steps I needed to take, and had me sign the appeals paperwork, and I just walked out of the coach’s office, pissed off. I went to work and lost myself in the driving range.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What a shitty start to the school year! Golf Girl was gone, she’d transferred elsewhere two weeks before school started, never to be seen again. My buddy VodkaRob got ditched by his roommate, and now this! Things can only go up from here, right? Nope.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Wednesday, August 29th, 2001&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After a mostly sleepless night, I awoke to a brand new day. After meeting up with VodkaRob and Crazy Pete for breakfast down in the cafeteria, I cruised to my first class, sociology of the elderly, and realized I’d forgotten my notebook and a pen. Not good, but luckily, the swingin’ gal sitting next to me, Jan, hooked me up. “You all right?” she asked.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Must be losing my mind or something,” I mumbled. Smooth man, real smooth.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sitting in class was like pulling teeth, but it just seemed like I was biding my time for the afternoon. I was scheduled to play in an 8-man team golf match with my co-workers at Rose Park Golf Course against those rotten bastards from Park City Municipal Golf Course. 12:30 hit and I jetted across campus like I had a rocket up my ass, grabbed my sticks and loaded up in my Blazer, affectionately known to my high school friends as the “Sweet Ride.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I popped a copy of Pantera’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7EQlfprV9E">“Cowboys from Hell”</a> into the CD player and turned the key in the ignition. Dead silence. Hit the key again and the indicator lights lit up my dashboard like a Christmas tree. Nothing. “No no no no no no no!” I yelled. “Fucking electrical shit!” That was one of the few things I didn’t know how to repair on my own. Things had been acting strangely with the truck and I was hoping to get my pops to look at it that Sunday when I went down to the old hometown to play in the “Beer League.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It looked like I was going to need a jump to get it started, so I figured I’d save it and take my chances on the trip home Sunday. I dialed one of my bosses at Rose Park, D, who thankfully was still in town to get a ride up to Park City for the match. “No problem bud, I’ll be right over,” he said.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We arrived at the Park City Municipal Golf Course at 1:30. Just enough time to warm up for a half hour before my partner, a plastic surgeon named Doc Baldwin, and I led off the pairings against Park City’s #3 and #4 players Richtenburg and Veloso. I went through my pre competition routine of washing down 3 big and blue Advil with a can of Mountain Dew; sticking my wallet, keys, and cell phone in my bag; putting my divot tool and ball marker in my left pocket and two green tees in the right; and taking about five swings with each club up through the bag. It wasn’t my greatest warm-up session, but I felt like I was ready to go.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The rain started to fall early on and just got worse as the round wore on. The four-ball match was a dead heat as Doc Baldwin, while overmatched was just playing out of his mind. I struggled to put Richtenburg away and as we hit the 18th tee, he had pulled to even. He absolutely smoked his drive right up the pipe on short par-5 hole. “Gotta pull out the big dog,” I said as I reached for my Titleist 975 D (yes, all you golf aficionados, I was still rocking this model in 2001. Best center weighted driver ever!). I cranked one down the right side of the fairway, leaving myself about 190 to the center of the island green. Unfortunately the ball managed to settle into an old divot. Richtenburg pulled out his 5 iron and gave it a run at reaching the green in two. His shot landed about 4 feet over the water and struck a sprinkler head, catapulting his shot straight into the air and finally landed about eight feet from the hole!&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Needing to reach the green in two myself, from a ridiculously shitty lie, I pulled out my six iron. Needless to say, that the way this week was going, disaster had to be looming. I smothered the ball out of that divot, pulling it about ten yards left of the green right into the middle of the pond. Game over. Our team as a whole got blitzed by the Park City guys on their home track that day, so my match didn’t mean much, but it still sucks to lose, you know.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So D and I pulled up to the dorm, I took my gear out of the trunk of his car and reached into the pocket to grab my keys and wallet. Oh shit. Something was missing, and it wasn’t my keys. My wallet was gone. Jesus Christ! Can things get any worse?! After sticking my head out the window and unleashing a growl that probably could’ve been heard in Magna, I jogged through some scenarios and did what I could to recover it, including borrowing VodkaRob’s Explorer to drive to Park City to retrace my steps.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was long gone. After making some phone calls to cancel my ATM and charge cards, I took a double shot of NyQuil and passed out. Tomorrow, it was time to crawl out of the hole.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Thursday, August 30th, 2001&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">BRRRREEEEEP! BRRRRREEEEP!&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At 8:00 AM I awoke in a daze, my phone was ringing; it was the front desk of Residence Hall #5. My Godmother had arrived to bring me her spare junker car, a banana yellow and rust 1987 Pontiac Grand Prix. “I’ll be down in a second.” I said, groggily. God bless her, my νονά had taken on a motherly role to me in absence of my own (at the time). She wasn’t going to let me miss a day of work just because my truck was dead. I gave her a lift back home, kissed her on the forehead, and scrambled back to campus to get to class.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After four hours of Abnormal Psychology and The Sociology of Marriage, I cruised on out to Rose Park to clean up the driving range. One of the two jobs I carried through college, (the on-campus job gets a chronicle of its own eventually), I was in the words of Bud Light’s Real American Heroes - Mr. Driving Range Picker Upper Guy:&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/RTFgouVbv8s?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yup, that about sums it up. It was a fun job, I got to blast some tuneage in my not so protective tractor and play human target for four hours. But what it did get me, besides some extra spending cash and an occasional welt when a ball would fly through the net, was free golf anywhere in town. Unfortunately, as fun as that job was, on Thursdays I needed to leave an hour and a half before closing time in order to make it to my night class at 7:30. So back across town to the campus I drove, stopping by Room #302 to pick up my books. Big Nick poked his head out of his bedroom door. “Where are you goin’?” He asked with a goofy grin on his face.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’ve got to go to class man, Greek and Roman History,” I replied.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No, you’re not.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Uhh, yes I am.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“No, you’re not.” He said laughing. “You’ve had one of the shittiest weeks known to man. You’re going out tonight. Rock, Pablo and the other guys are waiting for us. We’ve got the cure, a Death-Star.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What the fuck are you talking about?”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Just get cleaned up, you’ll see.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I guess I’m not going to class,” I said as I looked at the clock, now reading 7:35. I grabbed a can of Fosters out of the fridge and hit the shower, cranking Def Leppard’s Pyromania album. I threw on a pair of jeans and a Superman t-shirt. On our way out the door, Big Nick, shot a look my way.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You got any ID man?”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Fuck, I didn’t even think of that.” I said. “Waitaminute, I’ve got an idea.” I ran and grabbed a couple of items from my desk.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We jumped into Big Nick’s Jeep and pulled into a little strip mall up in Highland in front of a Mexican restaurant called <a href="http://www.elchihuahua.biz/">El Chihuahua</a>. I’d be lying if I wasn’t thinking that Mexican food sounded pretty fucking good right about then. We walk into the cantina where Roc, Pablo, Trig, the Masshole and a few of our other buddies were sitting around a huge table munching on chips and salsa.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Something to drink?” the waitress said as she approached our table. One by one everybody had the same answer, “DEATH-STAR.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I guess I’ll be having a Death-Star.” I said, wondering what the hell I was getting myself into.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’m going to need to see some ID” she said, as everybody pulled out their drivers licenses. Seeing as how I was sans-wallet, I laid a copy of my birth certificate and my Salt Lake City employee card out on the table. The poor girl called out her manager, who also happened to be tending bar, who noticed that my Social Security Number was on both documents and hooked me up.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After about ten minutes of cracking jokes and busting balls, the drinks arrived. The Death-Star came in a giant fish-bowl sized glass that looked like a purple version of that drink Garth ordered in the first Wayne’s World flick. The bartender/manager guy came over and explained to us that in order to get around some of Utah’s more archaic liquor laws, certain alcoholic parts of the drink had to be labeled “flavorings.” The Death-Star was comprised of ten shots of different “flavorings” and five shots of various juices. I took a drink, “Wow! This tastes just like antifreeze!” I thought. I took another drink, “sweet, sweet antifreeze.” And another, “hey this isn’t half bad.” And another, “this is actually pretty good.” And finally, “I think my face is numb, and I can’t even taste it anymore.” The Death-Star folks, it’s a keeper!&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">After we all had a Death-Star (one was all it took) and a shitload of various Mexican delicacies, we cruised back to the dorms. That Death-Star plus a couple of beers pretty much made me forget the next hour or so, but the next thing I remember was rolling down the road in Big Nick’s Jeep, while Pablo and Trig shot fire extinguishers out the back. Not sure where those came from. Typical college, drunken behavior but it was still funny for some reason. Oddly enough, "Death-Star" night is a tradition among college kids in Salt Lake that continues to this day.&nbsp; What can I say, we were trendsetters!</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Friday, August 31st, 2001&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I awoke with such a headache, that it felt like somebody was stabbing me in the right eye with an ice-pick. “Christ, I can’t handle the hooch like I used to.” I thought. Thankfully, there were very few Friday classes at Westminster, which allowed for maximum “Margarita Thursday” recovery. I went down to the Dean’s office to fill out the paperwork to get a new school ID. Surprisingly the picture actually looked better than my previous ID. Maybe things were looking up.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I got back to #302 just in time to meet Big Nick. He gave me a lift out to the hellhole known as the DMV. We blasted Anthrax’s The Sound of White Noise on our way out there. Nick had never heard them before, I think he was hooked, but that might’ve been because it was cranking out of his ridiculously awesome system. I forgot to mention, he had the top off of his Jeep and we had to take the freeway to the DMV, so I ended up with one of the most bizarre hairdos in the world for the next 5 years on my new driver’s license. I looked like a husky version of Wayne Static!&nbsp;</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TVDitOOnAuI/AAAAAAAAADE/1Bs6Ts5ISv8/s1600/static-x-singer-400lvg032309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TVDitOOnAuI/AAAAAAAAADE/1Bs6Ts5ISv8/s1600/static-x-singer-400lvg032309.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: black; color: white; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Only fatter</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We got back to campus around 1:00. On our way back up to our building, I ran into my friend Jess, (the girl I took to the AC/DC show, as well as several others, plus, her dad had owned a record store). “I’ve got some CD’s for you if you want ‘em,” she said.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What do I owe ya?” I asked.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Not a damn thing,” she said, “I’ve already got most of them. It’s all extra stuff my dad had lying around.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sounds good, just drop by a little later this afternoon, I’ll be around after golf practice.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Good luck.” She smiled.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, after that, how could I not shoot a 1-under par 71 in practice that afternoon? It was easily the best round I had shot on Wingpointe since I was in Junior College. And it just made me even more frustrated about my eligibility situation. But still, it felt good to be striking the ball purely and putting out of my mind. If only Golf Girl had been around to see that.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I got back to #302 around 5 o’clock to find a stack of about ten CD’s on our counter. Pretty good shit there, some Danzig, Slayer, Tears for Fears and several other pretty decent bands of stuff that I didn’t have already. Goddamn that Jess is a sweetheart. It was time to get ready for the evening’s festivities. Nick and I were “bouncing” at a house party, and it promised to be one for the ages.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Friday Night, August 31st, 2001 The Party Big Nick, Rock, and I piled into his Jeep and drove up to Pablo’s condo up on Wasatch. The first thing we noticed was two giant tubs full of red liquid that would’ve made the Reverend Jim Jones proud. “Jungle Juice man!” Pablo jumped into the room. Good god! There had to be $200 worth of liquor in those tubs. I wonder how many people they expected to show up for this shindig.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Big Nick and I took our positions at the door. In order to keep the “ratio” good, and to pay for the provisions, Pablo had erected a sign. “Chicks - $1.00 Dicks - $5.00 Cups - $1.00 We reserve the right to deny entry” I guess we were taking money at the door too. People started to arrive, in droves. The music was thumping, the booze was flowing and everybody was having a good time. Nick and I busted up a couple of fights, and had just finished tossing a couple of punks out on their asses when I noticed I yellow object sticking out of Nick’s back pocket. “What is that?” I asked.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“My taser,” he replied, matter of factly.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What in the blue hell do have that for?”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Just in case, man.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“What, a rampaging gorilla decides he really needs a drink, or wants to fight?”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re paranoid,” he said, grinning.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The party raged on, and I must’ve had $400 in my pocket. Hate to admit it, but damn, I was having fun. It was like every shitty thing that had happened that week didn’t matter anymore. Everybody seemed to be having fun, and this was easily the biggest party I’d ever been to. There had to be at least 100 people crammed into this condo with another 30 or so in the back yard and hot tub.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly, an obviously wasted party-goer crashed into me. “Duuuude, I think the cops are here man.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“I haven’t seen any, none have come in the door, and we haven’t let any in.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Man, I got to get out of here maaaan…” as he ran out the door. I walked outside to get some fresh air and looked down the road to see a massive caravan of police lights rolling up the street. I heard some thumping and looked up to see a helicopter with one of those giant spotlights trained down on the house. Oh shit! It’s the cops!&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I ran back into the house, just in time to see the “one guy that nobody knows at the party” pull a Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office badge on a chain out of his shirt. As more of his buddies popped in the door, and people started scrambling around I couldn’t help but kind of snicker at the scene. The house looked like a giant circle pit. The biggest deputy bellowed, “All right! Everybody over twenty-one, whip out your ID’s, show them to the deputy at the door and leave! Everybody under twenty-one, go to the backyard. You’re in for a long night!”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Big Nick and I were two of the first few back through the door. God knows, I was happy to have an ID again. As we made our way out, I overheard some of the cops talking about possible charges they could ring our friends on. Things you wouldn’t even think of, beyond shit like contributing and things like that. They were talking about things like the size of the party and the amount of people constituting an “event” which would require an “event permit” and an actual liquor license. On our way out, they asked if we owned the house or knew who did. We denied everything. Hell, they’re the government, if they want to know bad enough, they have the resources, they can find out.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We got half a block away, when Big Nick decided to turn back, explaining that he had left the faceplate of to his Jeep’s stereo in the house. I didn’t think that was a very good idea, I mean, we just got away from a virtual hornets’ nest with a shitload of cash in our pockets, but there was no stopping that dude. He handed me his roll of the door money and took off on a dead sprint back to the house. Bad idea.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">About a block away, I ran into one of the guys who owned the house who was just coming home to join the party and had missed the chaos. I handed him the stack of cash. “You might need this to bail out your roommates, bro.” He asked what all had occurred, so I laid the details out to him and suggested that he make himself scarce. He agreed and made a hasty retreat back to his car. I made it back to the Jeep and waited for what seemed like an eternity, before starting back down the sidewalk toward the house. I paused at the corner which overlooked the back yard and quietly observed the carnage. There were at least four lines, twenty people deep waiting in line to blow into a tube. Cops were literally EVERYWHERE! I wondered just how much the local taxpayers paid to have their sheriff’s department bust up this gathering. It must have been a slow night on the crime front. There were perfect little Mormon college princesses with tears streaming down their faces, knowing that their reputations were now tarnished. It was a surreal atmosphere.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly, Pat, another one of our buddies ran up. “Nickas! They’ve got Big Nick down on the floor, spread eagle! I think they’re gonna cuff him!”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Oh shit!” I thought, “Maybe I should have hung on to that money to bail Nick out!” I started to mosey back towards the house, trying to think of what to do, when I saw Big Nick shuffling my direction. “Christ almighty man! What happened?”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“They found the taser dude.”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“And they just let you go?” I asked with a quizzical look on my face.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yeah, but they confiscated it.” He replied, dejectedly.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well shit man, let’s cut our losses, get the hell out of here and regroup back at the apartment.” I said, “Looks like we’re lucky to get out of here on our own terms!”&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Aftermath&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We met up with Pablo and those guys at a local diner the next day. The statistics were staggering. Over 90 consumption tickets were handed out. I can’t remember for sure, but I think those guys incurred a small fine, which in this state is getting off light. Rock had to call his dad to tell him about his consumption ticket, but carried around his breathalyzer tube for a week, kind of like a merit badge. Big Nick, after his close call in nearly avoiding a weapons charge, mellowed out quite a bit after that episode. And that party went down in history.&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As for myself, well, I never did recover my wallet, but my dad figured out the electrical problem in my Blazer and managed to fix the problem in about ten minutes. I won my eligibility appeal and was reinstated for the last half of the last season of my collegiate career. That week put a lot of things in perspective for me. I felt like if I could weather that particular shitstorm and still come out smelling like a rose, then I’ve got to be pretty much bulletproof. It certainly helped later in life when I have come across a rough patch here and there. Things settled down and I had a pretty good senior year. I figured out that no matter how low I got, at least it has never gotten bad enough for the police to have to call my folks! And for some reason, I took a lot of comfort in that. </span></div>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-25944907383835019032011-02-01T18:29:00.012-07:002013-02-20T22:06:38.732-07:00Sundance Yourself To Death!<div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I've always been a fan of the Sundance Film Festival and independent film in general.&nbsp; There's this retarded thing in hollywood where a director has a vision and wants to see it fleshed out.&nbsp; But by the time he brings guys on to finance it, a studio to back it, and a distributor to get it out there, suddenly there are hundreds of people all with a stake in the final product.&nbsp; Unfortunately, that means all these people have a say in the final product, and what might have once been a good, original idea gets watered down.&nbsp; So there's something to be said about guys that max out ten credit cards and deal with having to cut back on bloated effects and production values in order to distill their idea down to what matters.&nbsp; Characterization and story arc.&nbsp; The Sundance Festival is often times your only chance to see some of these films because more often than not, they're not going to see the inside of your local cineplex.&nbsp; Sometimes, there's a really good reason for that, but on the flip side, once in awhile, there's some truly great ideas that never get the chance to reach a wide audience.&nbsp; There's not a whole lot that I like about living in Salt Lake, but I do consider myself lucky to have access to something as great as the Festival every year.&nbsp;&nbsp;</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Four feature films and three shorts this year was by far the most I've ever seen in one Sundance Festival. Sadly, I didn't make the trip to Park City for any of these, instead opting for the screenings within walking distance of my apartment here in Salt Lick. I kinda missed the mountain ambiance (and the $10 beers) of a night in Park City, but on the other hand I discovered a new independent theater, The Broadway Center, that I'm planning on frequenting in the future. I'm even thinking of joining the <a href="http://www.saltlakefilmsociety.org/"> Salt Lake Film Society</a> as well to support it. Here are my brief reviews of the seven films that I screened at the Festival this year.</span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: small;">First up was a film titled <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1588170/"><i>I Saw The Devil</i></a>. It was directed by <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0453518/">Ji-woon Kim</a>, who was also one of the writers for <i>The Uninvited</i>. This movie was in Korean and thankfully had subtitles. Which was nice, because even though at least half of my lesson clients early on in my career were Korean, I still didn't understand a damn thing.&nbsp; But even if there weren't subtitles, you could still pretty easily figure it out. This movie stars <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0496932/">Byung-Hun Lee</a> (who played Storm Shadow in that <i>GI Joe</i> flick last year) as a Korean Secret Service agent whose fiancee falls victim to a serial killer. He then sets off to find the killer and put him through hell, possibly at the cost of his own humanity.&nbsp;</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUidNzdsjLI/AAAAAAAAACQ/3a7ZRWHWQRE/s1600/Movie_StormShadow01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUidNzdsjLI/AAAAAAAAACQ/3a7ZRWHWQRE/s320/Movie_StormShadow01.jpg" width="224" /></a></span></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">He could have just nunchucked you right there and you would even have known it</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: small;">This movie was fucking violent, as most Korean revenge flicks tend to be, and at times hard to watch. But as gory as it was, psychologically it was even more brutal. Beautifully shot, but might've been a little too long. Good movie though. Afterward, I stopped into the coffee shop next door to the theater to take a piss, and ran into the Byun-hun Lee waiting outside the door to the john. Talked to him about the movie for a few minutes, seemed like a pretty cool guy. My buddy VodkaRob told me I should've tried to fight him for raping our childhoods with <i>GI Joe</i> though.&nbsp; Good thing I didn't.&nbsp; Dude would have beaten me about the head and neck with my own severed limbs.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/nY5Fq68To0E?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">A day later, we tied one on at <a href="http://www.tavernacle.com/">The Tavernacle </a>and walked down the street to the Broadway for the one we'd been looking forward to the most, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1640459/"><i>Hobo With a Shotgun</i></a>.&nbsp; It was preceded by a short film titled <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1632641/"><i>The Legend of Beaver Dam</i></a>.&nbsp; It was the story of a group of wilderness scouts singing songs around the campfire that according to legend, summons a crazy killer. Chaos ensues in a bloody, vulgar, and musical fashion. As a fan of movies like <i>The Goonies</i> and <i>The Monster Squad</i>, I've got to say that I love kids that curse. It was a fun twelve minutes.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/PThrSF0b2wA?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Where you probably won't get <i>I Saw The Devil</i> at your local cineplex, there was actually a legit buzz around the festival circles for <i>Hobo With A Shotgun</i>. What can I say? People seem to like the truth in advertising. This flick stars <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000442/">Rutger Hauer</a> (who seems to have entered the Mickey Rourke zone of guys who you aren't sure they are even acting anymore) as said transient.&nbsp;</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUijOQ27Z8I/AAAAAAAAACU/3SIQirQSRQE/s1600/Hobo-With-a-Shotgun-Rutger-Hauer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUijOQ27Z8I/AAAAAAAAACU/3SIQirQSRQE/s320/Hobo-With-a-Shotgun-Rutger-Hauer.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Got any spare change?</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He jumps off a train during a stopover in Hopetown, a run-down metropolis that makes Detroit look like Dubai, that is ruled by an evil gangster named The Drake.&nbsp; Seeing injustice at every turn and meeting the proverbial hooker with a heart of gold (usually they just take your wallet), he forgoes his dream of starting his own lawn mowing business and instead takes his last fifty bucks and turns it into a pawn-shop 12-gauge and a seemingly unlimited amount of ammo.&nbsp; From there he sets about taking back the streets of this urban hellhole, one shell at a time. This one was a bizarre, bloody and overall batshit crazy exploitation-type flick. If you like those types of movies from the mid-70's you'll enjoy this one. From what I hear, they've sold this movie to a distributor, so come April it'll be in theaters nationwide.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/9nbl78cj5vM?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Arguably, the best part of Sundance is the documentaries.&nbsp; So a few days later, I took my little sister to a screening of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1787791/"><i>Resurrect Dead:&nbsp; The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles</i></a>.&nbsp; Before the feature, was a five-minute documentary short titled<i> <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1673499/">The High Level Bridge</a></i>. The film profiled the High-Level Bridge that spans the Saskatchewan River in Edmonton, Alberta, its man-made waterfall and its reputation as a local suicide hotspot. The filmmaker sounded clinically depressed himself. One of the ladies on the golf team that I coach is from Edmonton, and when I asked her about all the suicides off the bridge and if it's an accurate representation of her hometown, she said "That's not what we're aboot back home." Touche'.&nbsp; Here's the film in its entirety:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/TtQtSWncXcQ?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">A very interesting real life mystery is featured in </span><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Resurrect Dead...The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles.</i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> Dating back to the early 80's, somebody has been gluing peculiar signs to the streets of Philadelphia with a strange four-line message:</span><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">&nbsp;</i></span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUirh2ZMLiI/AAAAAAAAACY/hUx5qyYKTGg/s1600/toynbee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUirh2ZMLiI/AAAAAAAAACY/hUx5qyYKTGg/s1600/toynbee.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr><tr style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Creepy!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">These tiles fascinated a local layabout named Justin Duerr who began a quest to document all known locations of these tiles (which are found in eight states and three South American capitals) and find the mysterious artist who put them there. He teams up with the filmmaker, John Foy, and two other like-minded individuals to attempt to finally solve the mysteries of who, why and how. It was a fantastic documentary and it was interesting to see how these four guys were able to tie together seemingly unrelated clues into solid leads. I can't quite call </span><i style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Resurrect Dead...</i><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"> the best movie that I saw at the festival, but I can say that it was probably the most enjoyable of the bunch.</span> </span><span style="font-size: small;">&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/DcZELQhpf_o/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DcZELQhpf_o?f=videos&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" /> <param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /> <embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DcZELQhpf_o?f=videos&c=google-webdrive-0&app=youtube_gdata" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally, VodkaRob and I wrapped up our Festival experience last Friday night with a midnight showing of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1686327/"><i>The Oregonian</i></a>.&nbsp; Attached to this movie was a short titled <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1791641/"><i>The Pact</i></a>. It features a pair of siblings in the home of their recently deceased mother discussing a secret that they share, something that happened in the basement. This one was genuinely scary, as opposed to the feature it was paired with, which I'll get to in a second. And it brought on those feelings of dread without any typical "payoff."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/lIP0elmhDOA?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I went into <i>The Oregonian</i> expecting a grindhouse-y type of horror flick. What I ended up getting was a throwback to those late 60's early 70's psychedelic movies or something reminiscent of those "Coffin Joe" Brazilian horror flicks from the mid 70's. It featured a heaping helping of washed out colors and a horrifyingly brutal sound design that was light on dialogue, but heavy on shrieks, grunts, squeals and insane laughter. It was by far the loudest movie I've ever seen. My ears are still ringing. It lacked any semblance of a plot, or overall narrative other than a bloodied girl (<i>True Blood's</i> Lindsay Pulsipher) wandering in the woods encountering strange scenarios. It did, however, have plenty of horrifying visuals including a creepy old lady breathing hard while grinning from ear to ear, a redneck dude pissing all the colors of the rainbow during a pit-stop, a guy in a furry frog costume jerking off against a window, random hicks drinking pina coladas made with gasoline and some suspect-looking milky liquid, and plenty of people drooling bile while laughing. Read that sentence again.&nbsp;</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUiuf5XfydI/AAAAAAAAACc/R6hatSKPPyo/s1600/o-sundance-2011-new-bizarre-images-for-the-oregonian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/TUiuf5XfydI/AAAAAAAAACc/R6hatSKPPyo/s320/o-sundance-2011-new-bizarre-images-for-the-oregonian.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;">Thank god this is a still photo!</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Most of it was gross, and none of it was scary. It was marketed as a horror flick and ended up being an arthouse flick. <i>The Oregonian</i> was basically an hour and twenty minute acid trip and I was sorely disappointed. But at least I made it all the way through it, which can't be said about the twenty or so people that walked out in the middle of the screening. It came into the festival with a considerable buzz and left the festival getting absolutely crushed by critics and viewers alike.&nbsp;</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe allowFullScreen='true' webkitallowfullscreen='true' mozallowfullscreen='true' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/1nbiEhkcQCs?feature=player_embedded' FRAMEBORDER='0' /></div><div style="color: white; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif; font-size: small;">So in a week's span, we saw some pretty good films, and a real stinker.&nbsp; Like I said, sometimes there's a reason these aren't studio pictures.&nbsp; But overall it was an awesome experience for any film geek for sure.&nbsp; You ought to make it out here for the festival at least once in your life.&nbsp; I guarantee, if you spread it around a little bit, you'll come away seeing something you like.&nbsp; It literally has it all. &nbsp;&nbsp;</span></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div><div style="color: white; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><br /></div><div style="color: white; font-family: &quot;Trebuchet MS&quot;,sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0bb5ff; font-size: x-small;">&nbsp;</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></div>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-21804117930650717982011-01-31T00:43:00.003-07:002011-01-31T01:21:21.218-07:00In which our hero returns with another Dorm Days Flashback to whet your appetite for things to come…<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;" xmlns=""><i>Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends. We're so glad you could attend. Come Inside, come inside…</i><br /><br /> After a couple "false-starts" I'm ready to give the blogging thing a go again. I've got a lot more direction these days, and a lot more creative fire. I'm also ready to talk about what has been happening to me professionally the last couple years. It's been gone now for two years, but I think the story of the last years of the University Golf Course need to be told. I'd also like to branch out a little bit and do some reviews, as well as sound off on a few things going on in the world to anybody that'll listen, or read. So sit back, get comfortable, and feel free to peruse some of my earlier work on this site.<br />&nbsp;</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;" xmlns="">Here's a little flash back to my Dorm Days to whet your appetite a little further (or turn you off completely.) I've cleaned it up a little bit, mostly for typos (of which there were many), and changed a few more names around to protect the guilty. I've got to say, I'm fairly shocked at the amount of F-bombs I used to throw around! Anyway, here we go! <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"On The Map"</div><div style="text-align: center;">(January 2000)</div></span><br /><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 85%;" xmlns="">Originally posted to the old blog in March, 2006 </span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></div><span xmlns=""><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">We had just returned from winter break, and I've got to say, it was great to see Apartment 302 once again. I was the first one back, and the first thing I noticed was my John Belushi "College" poster on the wall was stripped of its "frame" of about 90 friction-rubbed beer bottle caps. They had cleaned the joint up! That frame took a lot of work from Big Nick and me to put up there, so much work that I couldn't even remember doing it! But the snapshot Big Nick took of the poster was still stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. "Oh Shit! Hope they didn't discover the stash!" I thought as I went into the back of the utility closet and found, thankfully in the box my stereo came in, five 20-packs of Bud Light 6-percent bootlegged from Evanston, Wyoming (You can only get 3.2 ABV beer here in Salt Lick). Well, at least it was going to be a good homecoming!</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">But coming back was a little bittersweet. The good news was, the missionary kid, who had threatened to report any of Big Nick's or my own "misbehaviors" to the Dean "for our own protection" no longer seemed to be rooming in The Penthouse, his room was empty. Unfortunately, the old guy "Jerry Flynt", the guy that cooked for us when the cafeteria just wasn't cutting it, was gone as well. While we tried everything we could to get the missionary kid tossed the previous semester, but Jerry's departure hurt. The dude fed us, man. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">I heard some keys unlocking the door, "I wonder who is left?" I thought as I hurled the door open to find The Hottie R.A. from across the hall leading a fresh-faced youngster into the apartment. The kid had a Yankee hat on, so well, he had that going for him, which was nice. "Nickas, this is your new roommate, Doug. He's NINETEEN (emphasis on the NINETEEN), make sure he stays out of trouble," she said with a wink as she sashayed out the door. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Shit! Big Nick's birthday was last week. We were finally all twenty-one years old in here. Finally, we could all party out in the open in here without getting written up. And the fucking dean's office had thrown us a curveball. According to the ridiculously detailed ol' Westminster handbook, you could consume alcohol in the main area of the apartment if all residents were over the age of twenty-one. If not, the demon alcohol could only be consumed in the individual bedrooms or the bathroom. Which I always thought was kind of funny. Not that we ever really gave a shit about the rules anyway, but it would have been nice not to get written up for throwing on a drunk after class in our own living room. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Always the fucking ambassador, I introduced myself and helped the kid haul his shit into the apartment. Like everybody else in the apartment, he was the child of divorced parents. But he was the only one with a father in prison! Hardcore! He'd recently quit the Mormon Church to become Catholic, but was having extreme difficulty getting his name off of the church rolls. I knew of a few people who had at one time the same problem, so I understood what he was going through. All of this, and this was his first time away from home. It was pretty overwhelming for the kid, and since he was now part of the family, I figured we all needed to help him out. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Big Nick and The Nate showed up a couple of minutes later and they got their first impressions of Doug. They were admittedly pissed that the Dean's office had given us an underage roommate. But at the same time, and this is a good indicator as to how good those guys were, they made it abundantly clear that it wasn't Doug they were pissed at, but the Student Life office in general. And like I said, since when have we ever given a shit about the rules anyway? Big Nick had stacked one of the 20-packs in the fridge when he had walked in, and the four of us had a toast to a new beginning. The Nate even tagged Doug with a nickname within an hour, and "Junior" was born.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">We figured we needed to get Junior acquainted with as many people as we could. So the first week of class, we started introducing him to as many of our friends as we could. Big Nick took him down to the weight room, a newly returned Dowder (the "fifth" roommate in the way that Pete Best was the "fifth" Beatle) introduced him to the Frisbee guys in the quad and I took him door to door on the third floor and the apartment directly below us to meet the neighbors. You had to get in good with the girls on the floor below because then they'd be more likely to talk directly to you about excessive noise than an RA.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">We came to the apartment directly across the hallway from ours and I started to get a little nervous. Not only was this particular apartment the RA's room, but also this was where Jules lived. I'd kind of been crushing on this girl pretty much the entire holiday break. Before the break, I was working on the infamous "One-Night" fifteen-page term paper in the small Residence Hall 3 computer lab when this girl came in and asked if I could listen to her class presentation. Evidently somebody had told her that I'd done my fair share of public speaking back in the day and had some advice to offer. So I helped her iron the bugs out of her presentation and we shot the shit briefly before I had to get back to the term paper. A few nights later we met up again at the "Midnight Breakfast" the night before finals began, and I was pretty hip to the idea of asking this girl out. She went home to Alaska for the holidays, and I spent two weeks thinking about what to do.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Junior knocked on the door, and Jules answered it. "Hey, hey! Just wanted to introduce you folks to the motley crew across the hall's newest member, this is Doug!" I bellowed. She invited us in. It was on. We sat down as two of the other girls, Alice and Elizabeth came out to say hello. They started chitchatting with Junior and Jules hollered at me to go into the other room. "How'd your presentation last semester go?" I asked.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Pretty good, I got an A." She said as she gave me a hug. It was on. "Hey Mike, I think Elizabeth's got a crush on Doug. She said she saw him in the hallway the other day and she won't shut up about it."</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Well, that's certainly interesting. I don't know man, she's pretty Mormon," I thought to myself as I nodded my head.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"You think you could maybe encourage him to get lunch with her or something?" Jules asked. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"I'll say something; see if he's feeling it." And then my brain finally kicked in. For years, I'd been the kind of shy quiet dude, always afraid to really go after something or just plain say it. So instead I made an event out of shit. I wanted to get with this girl, so my primitive brain thought; "I've got to do something big." "I've got a better idea," I said, "Let's throw a party Friday night."</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Like a mixer?" she inquired, eyebrow raised.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Like a big, wild mixer." I said nodding my head thinking to myself, "if the party in <i>Can't Hardly Wait</i> could be considered a mixer". "The Penthouse, Friday night. Tell all your friends." It was so on.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Now, doing anything of this sort on a wide scale in the close quarters of the residence halls presented a few logistical problems. How not to get caught by the RA's and administration was chief among those concerns. One of us was going to have to fall on a grenade. We left that up to The Dowder, who asked The Hottie RA on a date that night. Hesitantly, she accepted. Next, we had to find out who was the RA on duty. Luckily it happened to be the Comrade. All it took was a bottle of Stolichnaya and a burned copy of Metallica's S&amp;M album and the Comrade was properly bribed off. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Next was the liquor. I had no idea how big this thing was going to get so I went to where I usually got some cheap advice, my Maxim Magazine collection. I found an article from issue #12 in the "How To" section titled "How to throw a soiree'" and followed its suggestions of two large jugs each of rotgut tequila, vodka, gin and whiskey. Plus I bought a new bottle of Makers' Mark and a bottle of Champagne for myself. Adding in the mixers and I must have dropped about $150 on liquid refreshment. With the girls across the hallway making the food, this sucker was on! There was an actual legitimate buzz going around the dorm about it. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">I got home a little bit late from basketball practice that Friday afternoon and hurriedly set everything up. Junior and Big Nick got the bar area up and running and cleaned up the house. I cleaned out my Bud Light keg bucket, filled it with ice and got the champagne chilling on my desk in my room. While I was taking care of the last minute preparations, The Nate took it upon himself to start the festivities, mixing himself a gigantic Electric Lemonade. He used his own high-end liquor and we estimated that particular drink in a bar would probably cost about $25. The Dowder, who usually resembled Pigpen from the Peanuts Gang, came out of his room as clean as I had ever seen him, in a nice sweater and khakis. He pounded a shot and left to pick up The Hottie RA. I grabbed a Fosters can out of the fridge and hit the shower for a long one. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">I wrapped up my shower about a half hour later and got dressed. "Fuck it. Let's go all out," I decided. I owned at that time this maroon and black Heffner-esque silk smoking jacket. I didn't even smoke! It was cheesy as all hell, but dammit I was feeling it that night, I was going to class this shit up. I was an idiot. One of my high school golf teammates used to wear one on the overnight trips and I always thought it was hilarious, so I picked a jacket up right after I'd moved to Salt Lick. I was comfortable. I walked out and we all had a good laugh. I looked over in The Nate's direction, "How many is that bro?" I nodded at his drink. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Number four dude." He replied, downing the last few drops of Electric Lemonade and started to pour number five. He was already getting a glossy look in his eyes.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">The doorbell rang; it was two of Big Nick's gal pals, Heather and Shauna. They came in, mixed drinks and retired with Big Nick to his room for some "entertainment." We wouldn't see them again until things were wrapping up. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Suddenly people started showing up in droves, we got the music pumping and it was becoming a boisterous occasion. There were at least thirty people crammed into that little apartment. Some friends of ours, but mostly people we didn't know. I couldn't believe we'd thrown something like this together in a few days. The girls from across the hall arrived with a gigantic 7-layer dip in a huge baking dish. The Smokers descended upon it like buzzards to a fresh road kill. Elizabeth had a surprised look on her face. I don't think she imagined a dorm "mixer" to resemble anything like the rager that was taking place. And then there was Jules. She looked absolutely fantastic, with a smile that could launch a thousand ships. "Why the hell does she wear those baggy clothes all the time?" I thought to myself. She was in tremendous shape.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Junior was really starting to get after it, and so was The Nate. The Nate was a big guy, probably twice my size. As I was mixing myself my third or fourth martini of the evening, I looked over at him sitting on one of the bar stools. He was HAMMERED! He saluted me with his sixth Electric Lemonade, leaned his head back and raised his glass to his gullet. As he leaned back, I saw it. Dude's eyes rolled back into his head and he kept going back, going, going, gone. BOOM! He landed flat on his back on the floor. Room 302 shook. The windows rattled. The stereo skipped. Everybody paused for a second, looked, and went back to their revelry. I still had my wits about me so I rushed over to where he was laying on his back, making that sick moaning sound that usually signaled that he was going to hurl. This was a problem. If he honks on the floor, the party is pretty much over based on the smell alone. So I got my buddy Little Nick to grab The Nate's legs and I snagged him by the armpits and we slowly dragged his 350 lb. ass down the hallway to The Nate/Dowder bathroom, I filled up a glass of water and set it down next to his huge, corpse like figure. That boy was destroyed. I looked at my watch, 11:30 pm. "This has to be some kind of drunk-record for Nate." Little Nick quipped. We rejoined the party.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Dowder returned from his date. Dammit! He was supposed to keep The Hottie RA occupied until at least 1:00! "No worries brah," he said, "I dropped her off at her friend's house. That's a weird girl, man." He said as he gathered his crew of stoners and retired to his room to spark up. Everybody was having a good time, but people started getting paranoid. Every time there was a ring at the doorbell, everybody scrambled to hide their drinks and the sub-21 kids hid themselves in the closets and showers. Fucking hilarious. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">I had damn near worked up the courage to ask Jules out on an actual date when the first glass was broken. We looked up and saw Junior panicking in the kitchen. "What happened bro?" I asked.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Sorry, man. I broke your glasssssssss." Doug slurred.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Are you all right?" I asked as I saw the bottle he was holding in his other hand. It was Everclear, and there wasn't very much left in the bottle. "Dude, you didn't drink that whole bottle did you?"</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Yeah man. It tastes like shit, but I can't stop drinking it. THIS PARTY IS GONNA PUT US ON THE MAP DUDE! WHOOOOOOOO!" He was starting to lose it.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Bro, that's like pure grain alcohol. I don't think you are supposed to drink that much of it (or any of it for that matter), especially straight up." I don't think he knew what he was doing. But hell, he was a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old kid. I was there once. "Just settle down a bit." I suggested. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Things got progressively louder and more out of control. Everybody was having a good time. I made the rounds, being a gracious host by saying "hey" to everybody in my ridiculous smoking jacket and leopard print cowboy hat. I looked like I was half-crazy. I'd finally made it back to Jules when there was a loud knock on the door. "Campus Police! Open Up!" Everybody scrambled to hide their shit or themselves as I looked through the peephole. Sonofabitch. It was Squirrel fucking with us. He actually was a campus police officer, but he was off duty and ready to party. Sometimes it's good to have friends in high places.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Things had reached a crescendo when there was another crash of breaking glass. This time it was from the living room. And once again, Junior was the cause. Only this time he was half hanging out of one of the windows! Little Nick, who was some kind of everywhere-at-once super-hero that evening, yanked him back inside. The booze had taken the kid over. Thankfully, I knew a couple of the maintenance guys on campus, and that hinge looked mighty rusty, so we were able to eventually go around the dean to get it fixed. Thank god for the lowest bidder. Poor Elizabeth, both overwhelmed and upset ran out of the apartment in a huff with Jules and Alice in tow. On her way out the door Jules gave me the "call-me" signal. So I had that going for me, which was nice. But I was definitely in a sour mood as Little Nick and I carried a now passed out Junior down the hallway and tossed him onto his bed. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">Around 3:00 AM, things finally fizzled out. People started heading home. Thankfully, they all seemed to have had a good time. I checked up on The Nate and helped him to his room with the trusty coffee can. He would have a three-day hangover. Little Nick and I commenced to cleanup duty. At 3:30 Heather and Shauna slipped out of Big Nick's room, giggling, and took off. Big Nick poked his head out the door, rubbed his eyes, looked at the carnage, laughed and shut his door. Little Nick and I finished cleaning up the broken glass, empty beer bottles and plastic cups. He went home soon after, leaving me and the bottle of Champ-an-ya that I had hoped to be sharing with my new lady-friend alone in my room. I popped the cork, took a giant swig and passed out. This was a sad attempt at seduction gone horribly awry. </span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">The next day I woke up and made myself a bowl of fruit-loops. As I walked into my room a girl busted out of my wardrobe, apologizing profusely holding her head. Evidently she had gone in there to hide when there was a knock on the door and had fallen asleep. I shooed her out of the apartment and turned around to find Junior and The Nate sitting on the living room chairs with identical "death-warmed-over" looks to them. "Rough night, fellas?" I asked. Neither of them remembered anything from the night before. They looked at the busted window and then at me. "Last night put us on the map." I said to them as I cruised back to my room for breakfast.</span></div><div style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><span style="font-size: 85%;">EPILOGUE:</span></div><span style="font-family: Arial Narrow; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Well, the administration found out about us. Not from our odd request for a new window, but from an upset Elizabeth mentioning the party in conversation to the wrong people. I reckon we were on "double secret probation" for the rest of the semester. I finally worked up the stones to ask Jules out, and we went to a hockey game for our first real date. This kicked off my first real relationship in college. Good times! Junior and Elizabeth never did hit it off, although he did take a run at The Hottie RA, later in the semester. That night however resulted in us having more friends than we knew what to do with for the rest of the year. The Super Bowl party a few weeks later went swimmingly, and the motley crew of Room 302 became sort of the unofficial leaders of the campus community.</span></span></span></span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-50004819114346814692009-04-08T23:54:00.004-06:002009-04-09T00:11:34.036-06:00Blackout Summer In The USA - Another Dorm-Days Flashback<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This week's Dorm Days Flashback takes us all the way back to the Summer of 2001. At the time I was working at a little golf course on the west side of Salt Lick known as Rose Park. Oddly enough, a month ago, I just started a new job at that familiar little golf course on the west side of Salt Lick known as Rose Park. Like a lot of things in my life, it seems like I take a long and arduous journey just to get back to where I started. But like I always say, it doesn't matter what happens to me as long as I get a story out of it. The story of how I just ended up back at Rose Park will be told at a different time, but to tide you over until then, here's a twisted look back to my first summer away from home.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"Blackout Summer In The USA"</span>
<br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">(June 2001)</span>
<br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Originally posted to the old blog in February 2006</span>
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<style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Cambria Math"; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:1; mso-generic-font-family:roman; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-unhide:no; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman","serif"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} .MsoChpDefault {mso-style-type:export-only; mso-default-props:yes; font-size:10.0pt; mso-ansi-font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was the summer of 2001, and it was a scorcher.<span style=""> </span>During the summer the only kids still living on campus were people enrolled at least full time, or worked a campus job for ten hours per week.<span style=""> </span>I had a job at a local golf course in <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Salt</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place>, Rose Park, and really did not want to quit and return to Price for the summer.<span style=""> </span>So I got Coach Connor to sign off on ten hours per week as a personal assistant to his staff, and got to stay on campus.<span style=""> </span>VodkaRob, in a similar situation, didn’t feel like returning to his small hometown as well, so he kept his campus job.<span style=""> </span>Without school and less responsibility than ever, could VodkaRob and I, the remaining members of Room 302, manage not to party ourselves to death over the summer?<span style=""> </span>Could we avoid pissing off the administration and getting kicked out?<span style=""> </span>Would we make some new friends?<span style=""> </span>These are all questions hanging over our heads as we cruised into my favorite season of the year.</span></p> <p 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<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The administration’s solution, at least to the second question, was to split us up.<span style=""> </span>They wanted to “keep an eye” on all of us summer stragglers, so they confined every on-campus resident to a new building, Residence Hall 4.<span style=""> </span>VodkaRob and I drew different apartments on the ground floor of the new building, and each had five new roommates to get acquainted with.<span style=""> </span>Rob, on the basis of his prior military affiliation ended up with a rowdy bunch of Naval ROTC kids.<span style=""> </span>I ended up with a crew of hard partying, occasionally womanizing members of our Griffin Soccer team.<span style=""> </span>I really can’t stand soccer, but these guys were pretty cool.<span style=""> </span>And considering they were touring the country with various clubs and attending camps and clinics, I pretty much had the apartment to myself, which was a strange place in itself.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I ended up in the <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">ADA</st1:place></st1:city> compliant room.<span style=""> </span>This meant that the cupboards and appliances in the kitchen were lower as were the sinks in bathroom.<span style=""> </span>For the first time since I quit getting taller at age 13, I actually felt tall!<span style=""> </span>But the best part of all was the bench in the shower, and detachable massaging shower-head.<span style=""> </span>As sore as I’d be when I’d either return home from a golf tournament or unable to stay on two feet due to a few too many, at least I could relax a little bit getting cleaned up.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">After returning home from a hard day at work with darkness falling over the city, happy hour would begin, and Residence Hall 4 would spring to life, people starting their own engines, getting ready to hit the town, or tying one on at home.<span style=""> </span>VodkaRob and I along with whoever wanted to join us would load up a little mini cooler with various alcoholic beverages and hold court on a picnic table out in the main quad.<span style=""> </span>While liquor was allowed in the dorms, it was pretty taboo to have it outside of the rooms.<span style=""> </span>But this restraint was either lifted or overlooked that summer.<span style=""> </span>It was like a little outdoor version of Cheers every night, as our group would shoot the shit and relax in the cooling evening air.<span style=""> </span>Once in awhile we would drag out the electric guitars and do our best GN’R impression out there to the delight of no one in particular.<span style=""> </span>Maybe that is what retirement will be like.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was on one particular Wednesday night that our story takes place.<span style=""> </span>I was deep in preparation for one last run at qualifying for the Utah State Amateur Golf Championship.<span style=""> </span>The qualifier that particular year happened to be in my hometown of Price, so I was prepared to leave nothing to chance as far as getting in.<span style=""> </span>I’d been practicing for hours a day the few weeks prior, before and after work, during my lunch break, hell, I’d even tap two foot putts in the hallway for an hour every night before I went to bed.<span style=""> </span>I was ready, and that particular Wednesday I’d played in my final competitive tune-up, in an 8-man team match for Rose Park against our hated rivals from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Mountain View</st1:place></st1:city> at their home course.<span style=""> </span>I fired a 3-under par 69 on my way to thoroughly destroying my opponent, the son of a Senior PGA Tour star going six holes up with five to play.<span style=""> </span>I needed to unwind before I left town for one last day of preparation down home in Price.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I returned to the school at approximately 9:00 pm that evening.<span style=""> </span>Now, the all new Residence Hall 5 was currently under construction on top of our usual parking lot, so we had to park all the way on the other end of campus.<span style=""> </span>As soon as I got out of my truck I heard the concussive BOOM of an explosion in the distance and started hearing sirens.<span style=""> </span>“Jesus, that sounds like its right in the neighborhood” I thought to myself, not noticing that the normally brilliantly lit up campus was much darker than normal.<span style=""> </span>I grabbed my gear and started trekking across the school grounds.<span style=""> </span>When I reached the dorm quad to find that the fellas had already started happy hour without me.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“A substation bit the dust homey!<span style=""> </span>The power is out dude.”<span style=""> </span>Mikey Hip-hop, a lanky, blond haired, blue eyed kid in a FUBU shirt, and one of VodkaRob’s new roommates hollered my way as I crossed the bridge with my golf bag.<span style=""> </span>“It doesn't look like you boys are jammin’ tonight.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“I guess not,” I said sorely, “Rob, you got any vodka?”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Does the Pope shit in the woods?” He replied.<span style=""> </span>I stowed my gear into my room, lit a couple of peach candles and hit the shower to pound a can of Fosters to warm up.<span style=""> </span>It was time to unwind; we were getting seriously tanked tonight, in the dark.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I grabbed two of my commemorative Westminster College glasses, a quart of half and half, my bottle of Kahlua Especial, and a flashlight and picked my way through the dark down to VodkaRob’s apartment.<span style=""> </span>I was currently in my The Big Lebowski, white Russian phase.<span style=""> </span>But as usual I overdid everything.<span style=""> </span>I preferred my stuff in a big glass.<span style=""> </span>Mixing drinks in the dark is no small task, and these were pretty damn stout.<span style=""> </span>We went back outside where pretty much the entire dorm was hanging out on the grass around the fire-pit.<span style=""> </span>Somebody brought out a battery powered tape player and we had a little impromptu party in the dark.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">After about two hours and several trips back into the dorm for refills (couldn’t let the milk spoil!), we heard the muffled sound of the generators kick back on and the lights flickered back on dimly.<span style=""> </span>As I stood up, it hit me.<span style=""> </span>My eyes blurred, and my legs felt like spaghetti.<span style=""> </span>I looked at VodkaRob and slurred, “Man, I’m fucked=up.<span style=""> </span>But I haven’t had more than I usually have.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you, all I had was Stolichnaya 120.<span style=""> </span>It’s a little more powerful than Skyy.” VodkaRob said matter-of-factly as he downed the remainder of his whiskey sour.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Great.” I thought as a bunch of us made our way down to Team Navy’s apartment.<span style=""> </span>Rico, another one of VodkaRob’s roommates opened the door.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Dudes, check it out, my buddy sent me some funny videos!” he said as he giddily dropped a DVD into the player in the main area of the apartment.<span style=""> </span>This kid evidently was some kind of porno connoisseur, as about six of us dudes and three girls were treated to this sick bastard’s new favorite title, “Gag-Factor 8.”<span style=""> </span>The women featured in this particularly degrading, yet humorously titled piece of verite’ seemingly enjoyed fellatio so much they would vomit during the process.<span style=""> </span>Fucking heinous.<span style=""> </span>But most of us were so destroyed that we just kind of stared blankly.<span style=""> </span>The room started to spin, and I excused myself to use the john.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">When I returned Rico and his collection had disappeared, and all that were left were VodkaRob, Mikey Hip-hop, and a couple of other guys named Chad and Jeff were talking with the lone remaining female in the room, some gal with frizzy blonde hair named Monique.<span style=""> </span>“Sorry fellas, I think I passed out in there.” I said as I noticed that about a half hour had passed since I went in.<span style=""> </span>I had blacked out.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“S’cool homey!<span style=""> </span>We was just discussin’ some fly art yo!” Mikey Hip-hop shouted, maybe a little too loud as I snagged a beer and sat in the big chair.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Oh really,” I said, suddenly interested in something besides finding the bottom of my bottle.<span style=""> </span>I do enjoy art very much, especially the really weird shit like Van Gogh, Basquiat, The Dali’ and Picasso.<span style=""> </span>Someday I want to be able to afford some good paintings, not only can they be an interesting conversation piece, but it’s one hell of an investment as well.<span style=""> </span>Monique talked about some of the stuff she had done, and it sounded like it was up my alley.<span style=""> </span>She specialized in canvas paintings with different materials other than paint.<span style=""> </span>“Like what?” I asked.<span style=""> </span>Hey, inquiring minds wanted to know.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Oh, foods, cleaning supplies, biologicals.” She said.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Biologicals?” VodkaRob inquired.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Yeah, plant, animal, and human fluids.<span style=""> </span>It’s been especially difficult getting approval for my latest project.”<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Which is?” I asked, my curiosity peaked.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“It’s a commentary on the misogyny of college age men and their attitudes toward any artistic expression of powerful females inside of the artistic medium.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“What the hell does that mean?” <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chad</st1:place></st1:country-region> asked.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Well, in layman’s terms, I’ve painted a female figure, and I’m going to get five college guys to ejaculate on the canvas and shine it under a black light.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">As completely obliterated as I was, it actually seemed like a sensible idea to me until I looked over and saw the horrified look on VodkaRob’s face.<span style=""> </span>And then it hit me.<span style=""> </span>There are five of us dudes in here right now; I think this crazy woman is propositioning us.<span style=""> </span>When Hip-hop enthusiastically volunteered to do it, I knew it was a bad idea.<span style=""> </span>“What the fuck are you thinking?” I asked myself, and then the room started to spin again.<span style=""> </span>Time to bail.<span style=""> </span>“Sorry folks, I’ve got a long drive tomorrow morning, it’s time for me to retire.”<span style=""> </span>I like weird shit, but not that fucking weird.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">I walked back down the main hallway to my apartment, and paused about halfway through and took a knee to gather myself.<span style=""> </span>“Nickas, This shit is getting beyond out of control<span style=""> </span>You better lock it up before you do something really dumb that will ruin your already less-than-stellar reputation.”<span style=""> </span>I thought to myself as I willed myself the rest of the way down the hallway.<span style=""> </span>I managed to choke down two large glasses of water without throwing up to lessen the hangover, and hit the sheets.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The trip home the next day was mostly uneventful; I had a tremendous headache and played like shit during my practice round.<span style=""> </span>I shot a 7-over par 77 on the course I’d played hundreds of times as a kid.<span style=""> </span>My dad and I went down to his old bar, the <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Savoy</st1:place></st1:state>, for a beer after dinner.<span style=""> </span>“You all right?” he asked, “you looked like shit out there today.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Dad, I think I’ve been living a little too hard lately.<span style=""> </span>I’ve got to reel myself in a little bit,” I said, reluctant to get into specifics.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“You’re not doing any drugs or anything, are you?” he asked.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“No, but I have been drinking a little too much lately.<span style=""> </span>It’s not messing with my job or the way I’m playing or anything, but I can see how things might get out of control if I don’t rein it in.”<span style=""> </span>Unbeknown to my dad, I’d gone through a phase in my mid teens where I kinda lost it, and it seriously messed my grades as well as some relationships with family and friends.<span style=""> </span>It took a lot of hard work in the years since to get things back under control and become the real Nickas again.<span style=""> </span>“I just don’t want to do anything stupid.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Well, do what you have to do.<span style=""> </span>You know what you want out of life, if it doesn’t happen, the only one you have to blame is yourself.<span style=""> </span>Just don’t let it bother your schoolwork when that starts again, or then I have a problem too.”<span style=""> </span>Things may not have turned out the way he imagined in his life, but as far as life smarts go, my old man is freaking Einstein.<span style=""> </span>He did not say anything I did not already know, but just hearing it from somebody who had been there in his own past made me feel a lot better.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">The next day I did not play especially spectacular.<span style=""> </span>My grandparents and great aunt came out to watch my first few holes, the first time they had ever seen me play competitively.<span style=""> </span>I stayed steady enough until the 18<sup>th</sup> hole but I didn’t think it was going to be good enough to qualify, when one of the tournament officials asked each of us in our group where we sat.<span style=""> </span>“I’m at 3-over right now,” I replied.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Mr. Nickas, it would do you some good to get a birdie on this last hole.”</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">“Well, thanks for that.<span style=""> </span>No pressure or anything.” I thought to myself as I stepped to the tee and crushed the piss out the ball, but pulled it a little left.<span style=""> </span>It looked like it was about fifteen yards left of the green, but in the rough on the short, par 4.<span style=""> </span>Everybody else in the group had laid-up off the tee with iron shots, meaning they played their approaches first.<span style=""> </span>This gave me a little extra time to think over my own shot, a pitch out of a semi-buried lie in the tall grass.<span style=""> </span>“Shot of your life dude,” I thought to myself as I drew the club back.<span style=""> </span>The ball felt good coming off the club, it landed about halfway to the hole on the green and rolled smoothly over the ridge to the back pin location settling about twenty-four inches from the cup.<span style=""> </span>I made the longest two footer of my entire life, and managed to qualify for the State Amateur by a single shot.<span style=""> </span>Despite all of my problems, I had managed to become one of the 75 best amateur players in the state.</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">
<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Qualifying for that tournament gave me something new to focus on.<span style=""> </span>VodkaRob went to Oregon for a couple of weeks to see his lady-friend, which afforded me the chance to take a little break.<span style=""> </span>Not that it was his fault or anything, it was all on me, but I had the chance to sink my mind back into my work and my game.<span style=""> </span>That’s not to say we gave up the good times completely, but it never got to the point where I considered spunking on a painter’s canvas a reasonable idea ever again.</span></p>
<br />Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-19725124480556738562009-03-05T23:51:00.005-07:002009-03-06T01:05:21.062-07:00Crazy Pete Gets The Girl - Another Dorm Days Flashback!<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Hey chickapees, how are ya? I hope you're enjoying the tour through my days of yore. I promise to have an original piece that's tentatively titled "The Ballad of the UGC" up by the end of this weekend. Tomorrow is probably going to be my last shift at my current job up at the University of Utah, and I'm pretty sure I won't have much to do except to craft a story in dedication to the rich tapestry that was golf at the "U." So be on the lookout for that. Anyway, tonights bawdy tale flashes back to February of 2001. There's a few new characters in this one. I dole out a little relationship advice, which in itself is hilarious. God knows, I don't think I've had a relationship last longer than twenty minutes in the last ten years. But I did listen to Loveline every night, so that means I'm qualified, right? Also, make sure you read through to the end for a little bonus video action featuring a few appearances by the characters in this story, just so you won't think I'm making this all up. And away we go:</span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >"Crazy Pete Gets The Girl"</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">(February 2001)</span><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >It was in late February of year 2 in Room 302 and all of us were finally gelling as roommates.<span> </span>Earlier in the year, The Nate, Big Nick and I were pretty stunned when Junior and The Dave did not return, but the new guys VodkaRob, Jose' and Crazy Pete fit in with our fairly messed up personalities quite nicely.<span> </span>We were actually going to make it a full year without somebody giving up on us!<span> </span>Unfortunately, The Nate was becoming increasingly withdrawn, taking part in our weekend binges less and less frequently.<span> </span>Apparently something about Pete and Jose' rubbed him the wrong way.<span> </span>But none of us could figure out what.<span> </span>Kind of a shame, he missed out on quite a few good times down the stretch that year, even some not so good, and some that were both like the subject of the story today.</span> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It was your typical Friday at <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Westminster</st1:place></st1:city>.<span> </span>The best kept secret of that school is the vast majority of classes ran from Monday to Thursday with very few classes on Fridays.<span> </span>So if you played your cards right, it was almost like a three-day weekend every week!<span> </span>It was perfect for nursing a Post-"Margarita Thursday" hangover.<span> </span>And man-oh-man; I was feeling it that day.<span> </span>But hell, it was worth it, because tonight was the school's Mardi Gras celebration as well as the beginning of Spring Break.<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">We also just happened to be one day away from tickets to the AC/DC <span style="font-style: italic;">Stiff Upper Lip</span> Tour going on sale.<span> </span>If you did not live in the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Salt</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place> area, you probably would not know just how big of a deal that was back then.<span> </span>After an incident with a fan getting trampled during a <span style="font-style: italic;">Razor's Edge</span><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on"> </st1:placename></st1:place>Tour show a decade before, the band had not scheduled a tour stop in </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Salt</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Lake</st1:placetype></st1:place> since.<span> </span>So Crazy Pete, VodkaRob, Jose' and myself were especially stoked to see those legends grace the stage once again in our neck of the woods.<span> </span>Crazy Pete seemed especially excited for the show, but he had been growing increasingly anxious about something else.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">There was this certain female classmate of his that, in his words gave him that familiar "climbing the rope in gym class" kind of feeling.<span> </span>The dude was smitten with her.<span> </span>One problem though, she was afflicted with what was known in the Latin as "Boyfriendus-Douchebaggus."<span> </span>You know, she was with the wrong guy.<span> </span>Crazy Pete was the right guy.<span> </span>And since I was in the midst of a not-so-ideal situation myself with Golf-Girl, it was one of the few things Crazy Pete and I found some common ground on.<span> </span>Women were the subject of many of our beer drinking sessions.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Anyway, I had finally got home from an all-afternoon session in my office down at the gym assisting with breaking down tapes on UM-Western for the basketball game the next day.<span> </span>I stopped in the kitchen to pour a shot, grabbed a Michelob out of the fridge and cruised down the hallway to my room.<span> </span>Crazy Pete stopped me in the hallway.<span> </span>"Nickas! Dude! Candace finally broke up with that prick!"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"That's great!<span> </span>How'd you find out, brah?"<span> </span>I asked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Well, we were in this study group this afternoon and she told me while we were planning out the work on our class project," He replied.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Sweet!<span> </span>So she went out of her way to tell you?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Yeah," he said, "I thought it was kind of weird."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Now, one thing that I am not very good at is catching a hint, especially from girls.<span> </span>Hell, the writing was on the wall between Jules and I before school even started, but that did not stop me from feeling pretty blindsided three weeks into the year when the hammer finally dropped.<span> </span>And after I took her to see Def Leppard too! But this situation right here seemed obvious as hell to me.<span> </span>"Dude, you have to call her.<span> </span>She wouldn't have told you about her breakup if she didn't dig ya!"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I don't think she wants me too."<span> </span>He said sheepishly.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Bullshit man!<span> </span>This is your chance!<span> </span>Call her right now!"<span> </span>I had no idea if that was a good idea or not.<span> </span>Sadly, my biggest problem over the years when it came to women was inaction.<span> </span>I never made the call at the right time if I ever made the call at all.<span> </span>"Dude, make something up, invite her over to work on your project or something."<span> </span>Why the hell was he listening to me?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I don't know man."<span> </span>He started to wear down.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">So I went over and picked up his phone, looked at her number pinned to his bulletin board and started to dial.<span> </span>"Pete, I have fucked up way way way way way too many times.<span> </span>If I let you walk away from this I won't be able to live with myself."<span> </span>The alcohol was definitely talking there.<span> </span>I got to damn near the last digit when he grabbed the receiver out of my hand.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"All right, man, I'll do it."<span> </span>Crazy Pete hit the last button on the phone and pulled his best Optimus Prime impression by transforming into fucking Mr. Suave!<span> </span>He made a little small talk and invited her over to work on their project and hang out that night.<span> </span>It fucking worked!<span> </span>Even I was surprised!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Are you going to take her to Mardi Gras tonight?"<span> </span>I asked.<span> </span>"I think Jose' and I are going to cruise down there in a couple of hours or so."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"We'll probably just work on the project and hang out." And then he said the magic words:<span> </span>"We'll see what happens."<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I snagged a giant can of Fosters out of the fridge to drink in the shower, entered the bathroom and flipped on everybody's favorite rock and roll institution KBER 101.<span> </span>Motley Crue into Metallica into AC/DC into White Zombie into Def Leppard into Godsmack; is it any wonder why I love that station as much as I do?<span> </span>By the end of my shower I felt good and loose.<span> </span>I loves me a long hot shower with a little alcohol.<span> </span>Anyway, I hopped across the hall to my bedroom and got dressed in the nicest pair of cargo pants and the cheesiest looking Hawaiian shirt I could find.<span> I went with the Hilfiger with the Woody cars on it. Real subtle. It was t</span>ime to get festive!<span> </span>I entered the kitchen/living room area to find a bunch of girls from that room down the hall and VodkaRob pounding down some cocktails.<span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span>As I was joining in the festivities, </span>I heard Crazy Pete knocking on The Nate's door.<span> </span>"Can I borrow some tequila, man?" he asked.<span> </span>The Nate shot him down.<span> </span>Things were starting to get a little uncool with old Nate, but at the same time, he had a $50 bottle of Herradura he did not want going to waste.<span> </span>So I kind of understood.<span> </span>Fortunately I had a huge bottle of Cuervo in my stash that I was more than happy to part with for a good cause, and this certainly qualified as a good cause.<span> </span>"What are you mixing up bro?"<span> </span>I asked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I thought we'd just do some shots or something."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Well Pete, I'll tell you what, use as much of that bottle that you want, but if Candace isn't up for tequila, you can use whatever of my stuff you want, except for the Goose.<span> </span>That shit is expensive!"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">VodkaRob and the girls from down the hall soon vanished, leaving just myself, Crazy Pete and Jose' playing some Tony Hawk II on our little television.<span> </span>Big Nick and Ali were in his room "taking a nap" which usually involved a lot of slapping noises and laughing.<span> </span>The Nate and his girl Lisa had locked themselves up in his room and were pounding something against the wall, probably each other.<span> </span>Good times!<span> </span>It was about 10:00 when we heard a knock at the door.<span> </span>In his excitement, Crazy Pete nearly busted his ass tripping on a stool while running to the door.<span> </span>In walked Candace who seemed just a little too made-up to be coming over to work on a class project.<span> </span>This was a slam dunk for the Pete-ster!<span> </span>As Col. Hannibal Smith of The <span style="font-style: italic;">A-Team</span> once said, "I love it when a plan comes together!"<span> </span>They went down the hall to VodkaRob's room to use his computer while Jose' and I had a shot and caught our ride down to Mardi Gras.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">One thing <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Westminster</st1:place></st1:city> always got right was the parties they threw.<span> </span>As opposed to the student events thrown down at <st1:place st="on">the College of Eastern Utah</st1:place>, these were typically wild-assed soirees where the liquor flowed, the tuneage thumped and everyone was dressed to the nines.<span> </span>I'll get a little more in-depth about those parties in a future story.<span> </span>They were a doozy!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">We got down there around 10:15, met up with Peeze, Dane-o, and The Line-Stepper and commenced to having a couple drinks, limbo-ing and having a good time.<span> </span>I didn't intend on staying too long just because we had to get up early the next day to stand in line for the tickets.<span> </span>The years of self abuse had taken their toll by then and I just could'nt hang anymore.<span> </span>So I bailed around 11:15, catching a ride with Rachel, one of my teammates from the golf team.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I got back to 302 to find some of the girls from down the hall digging through the cupboards in the kitchen.<span> </span>"Where do you keep your bread?!" one of them yelled at me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"What bread?" I slurred, my head already starting to pound.<span> </span>"What in the blue hell is going on?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"She's in there throwing-up!"<span> </span>She hollered.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">So I headed back up the hallway towards my room and I heard the moaning and retching noises coming out of the open bathroom door.<span> </span>I saw a trail of vomit leading from the door to the john as two more of the girls from down the hallway nearly ran me over.<span> </span>"Where are your paper towels?!"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Paper towels? They're in the pantry." I answered.<span> </span>Why the fuck were they yelling at me?<span> </span>I looked in Crazy Pete's room. He was lying down on his bed, the faint odor of tequila and hurl was in the air.<span> </span>I looked on his desk, the entire fifth of Cuervo was reduced to about 3/4 of an inch in the bottom of the bottle.<span> </span>I had to look at the clock twice.<span> </span>11:30. Yup, only an hour and fifteen minutes had passed since Candace had arrived.<span> </span>Zero to puking in an hour! "That's got to be some kind of a record!"<span> </span>I thought. "Pete, are you all right?" I asked shaking him back into the land of the living.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Oh fuck dude, give me a minute."<span> </span>He moaned.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I figured things would get a little messy so I went into my room, flipped on Scott Ian's "Rock Show" on VH1 and changed out of my good clothes tossing on a pair of basketball shorts and my Megadeth t-shirt.<span> </span>Whitesnake's <span style="font-style: italic;">Still of the Night</span> video kicked on as I decided it was time to take over.<span> </span>I retreated to the kitchen, filled a glass of water and went back down the hallway.<span> </span>I went into the bathroom where poor Candace was praying to the porcelain god.<span> </span>"Hey. Are you gonna be all right kiddo?<span>" </span>She looked up, the sweat and tears making the mascara bleed down her face, giving her the vague appearance of Alice Cooper in the early years.<span> </span>"Here, sip some of this, real slowly."<span> </span>I handed her the glass, trying to not look completely horrified.<span> </span>"It's just some cool water." Crazy Pete shuffled in.<span> </span>"Grab a washcloth out of the drawer, and soak it in some cool, but not cold water," I hollered at him.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"You asshole." He hissed as he handed me the washcloth.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I handed it to her, "Here, wash your face off a little bit and hold it against your forehead."<span> </span>I turned my attention to Pete, "Why am I the asshole?" </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"If you hadn't have made me call her, this never would have happened.<span> </span>This is all YOUR fault, man!"<span> </span>He wasn't making any sense.<span> </span>In my previous days I probably would have let him have it, but my many years of experiencing consistently fucked up situations had tempered me.<span> </span>He was obviously still pretty drunk.<span> </span>Anything I said probably would have made the whole situation worse.<span> </span>But Christ, what the hell happened in that hour?<span> </span>And where the hell was VodkaRob? <span> He better be having some fun. I</span>n my best Winston Wolf from <span style="font-style: italic;">Pulp Fiction</span> impression I looked Crazy Pete dead in the eye and very calmly laid it out.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Pete, we'll talk about this in the morning.<span> </span>Right now, we've got a sick girl on our hands that we need to take care of.<span> </span>And considering both you and VodkaRob are still underage, if we draw the attention of the RA or the Dean we are ALL fucked.<span> </span>So sober your ass up right now and help out.<span> </span>Go and empty out one of my cans of coffee."<span> </span>Evidently my great aunts, bless their little old hearts thought I drank twenty cups of coffee a day.<span> </span>So every time I went home to Price they'd send a giant-ass can of Folgers up with me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Pete shuffled down into the kitchen and I got poor Candace another glass of water and a multi-vitamin.<span> </span>I walked past my room to see one of the girls from down the hall in there looking at my music collection.<span> </span>"Something I can do for ya?" I asked.<span> </span>She looked up, blank look on her face, "I like the heavy stuff too.<span> </span>Are you into Creed and Vertical Horizon?" she asked.<span> </span>My eyes rolled, this was definitely a conversation I did not need to have right now.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Uhhh, not now," I said more annoyed than anything as I grabbed my extra blanket and pillow out of my closet and tossed them on the couch.<span> "</span>Okay Pete, I'm going to need some help right now dude.<span> </span>She threw up her shoes a minute ago so I think she's done yakking, let's have her lie down. <span> </span>We need to move her out to the couch."<span> </span>Pete and I carried her out, layed her down on the couch, propped up her head and threw a blanket on her.<span> </span>The girls from down the hall finally left and I grabbed a Dewzer out of the fridge.<span> </span>Pete sat down on the big chair and hung his head.<span> </span>"Pete, you did a good job tonight. I'm proud of ya. <span> </span>The two of you are going to be all right, man."<span> </span>I said.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I think I love this girl."<span> </span>He slurred. "What went wrong?"</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Cheer up dude, you've still got a chance.<span> </span>One bad night isn't going to kill ya's.<span> </span>You saw how she was dressed when she came in, it's pretty damn obvious that she digs you."<span> </span>I continued, "Just take it a little bit slower next time, Dude."<span> </span>Silence.<span> </span>"Pete?<span> </span>Hey, bro?"<span> </span>I looked up at him.<span> </span>He had his head in his hands and was passed out snoring.<span> </span>I threw a blanket over his shoulders, turned out the living room light, and grabbed a mop.<span> </span>He was probably right, it was all my fault.<span> </span>I guess I deserved cleanup duty.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Metallica's <span style="font-style: italic;">Motorbreath</span> jolted me out of bed at 7:30 the next day.<span> </span>Thankfully the headache was gone.<span> </span>I jumped in the shower, cleaned up and got dressed.<span> </span>Tickets went on sale promptly at 9:00 AM so we had to bust ass down to the store.<span> </span>As I walked out, the living room area was deserted.<span> </span>No sign of Crazy Pete or Candace.<span> </span>VodkaRob popped his head out his door, looking a little worse for wear.<span> </span>"Hang on, let me put on some pants and I'll go with you." He said groggily.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Take your time.<span> </span>Just meet me out at the Blazer."<span> </span>I said walking out the door.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Rob walked up to the truck looking disheveled to say the least.<span> </span>"Rough night?" I asked.<span> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"You don't want to know?"<span> </span>he replied.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">We met Jose' and another buddy of mine, Little Nick, down at the grocery store and waited patiently for the ticket lottery.<span> </span>In walked Crazy Pete about twenty minutes later.<span> </span>"What a trooper bro!<span> </span>You're alive!"<span> </span>I exclaimed.<span> </span>"Why aren't you in bed dude?<span> </span>Rob and I could have handled this."<span> </span><span><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"I had to be here man.<span> </span>AC/DC." he replied, horns up.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"How much of your project did you get done?"<span> </span>Rob asked.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Not a whole lot.<span> </span>That chick is nuts.<span> </span>I can't remember too much."</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">That's probably a good thing.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Epilogue:<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">We ended up getting awesome seats for AC/DC, right on the floor.<span> </span>I even scored a hottie rocker-chick, Jess, from the dorm for a date.<span> </span>This was a first for me for a big rock concert. Before the show, we shot a little video in the parking lot that planted the seed in VodkaRob, Jose' and I for a little project we're coming out with in a few months.<span> </span>VodkaRob started an on-again/off again relationship with one of the girls down the hall.<span> </span>And as for Crazy Pete, well, Crazy Pete got the girl.<span> </span>Pete and Candace got an "A" on their project and dated well into the following summer.<span> </span>She became yet another one of the crazy characters woven into the tapestry of the Room 302, the Penthouse of Residence Hall 3.<span> </span>Score one for the good guys.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span>Bonus:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Here's a rough cut of the video we shot in the E-Center parking lot before the tremenduous AC/DC </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Stiff Upper Lip</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" > show. Hope ya'll like it!</span><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /><span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /><span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WauGg6CvJRg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WauGg6CvJRg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-26884348250414220382009-03-01T16:24:00.006-07:002009-03-01T16:33:44.779-07:00The ten albums that best describe who I am...<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My old 9-Ball/trivia bitch Ben stumbled upon a hell of an idea. Which ten albums do the best job of explaining your personality. Kind of a desert island list here. What are the ten albums that shaped your world? Here's mine in no particular order at all:</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">1. AC/DC ~ Live (1992):</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The first hard rock album that I ever purchased. This record captures their best recordings from one of the old Monsters of Rock tours. It was the first live record featuring Brian Johnson on the lead vox and the first live album the band released since 1978's If You Want Blood (You Got It) featuring Bon Scott. Now that one might be the better live record critically, but I didn't wear out two copies of that album in my old truck like I did with the Live record. It wasn't until I finally saw them live back in 2001 that I finally realized just how damn good that band really is. They are every bit as good and dare I say even more powerful live than they are on record. As a bonus, they're one of Keith Richards' favorite bands, and really, has that dude ever led us astray?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">2. The Rolling Stones ~ Let It Bleed (1969)</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Speaking of Keith Richards, when discussing the Stones, the first album almost every rock critic pulls out as the pinnacle of their career is 1972's Exile on Main St. But for my money you can definitely do worse than the record that came before it, Let It Bleed It captured the band in a state of flux. The band's founder and original rhythm guitarist Brian Jones died on the day the last tracks for this album were recorded. A lot of the band's most recognizable material came from this album like "You Can't Always Get What You Want" and "Gimme Shelter" but I kind of liked the deeper cuts like "Love In Vain" and "Monkey Man." This album also has Keith's lead vocal debut on one of my favorite songs called "You Got The Silver." Back in my senior year of high school, I had a shitty little clock radio that would also play tapes. So for the better part of a school year, I was woken up by a different Rolling Stones song every morning. "You Got The Silver" woke me up on the morning after I learned that my family was disintegrating. So that song kind of earned the title of the first song of the rest of my life.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">3. Led Zeppelin ~ Houses of the Holy (1973)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Gotta echo Ben's sentiments here. Some of my most vivid memories growing up were playing this album on a seemingly endless loop while we were down in Nick's basement shooting pool and crushing Market Express Cherry Cokes. In fact, that record might have been the background music for "what Chad said," the single greatest psych out in amateur billiards history. I remember those times often because, things weren't exactly going the greatest for me at the time with the family situation and all, and I was a bitter, pissed off kid. Those days helped me get past it. Plus it also helped that one of those Page and Plant tours was the third concert we ever went to. My personal favorites off this disk, "D'yer Mak'er," "No Quarter," and "The Crunge." Also had a great mention in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure when noted thespian Keanu Reeves referred to ancient Greece as a "countryside that much resembled the cover of Led Zeppelin's Houses of the Holy."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">4. Supersuckers ~ Motherfuckers Be Trippin' (2003)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I spent the better part of 2003 recovering from a very dark period in my life. Early 2003 found be flat broke, busted, unemployed and destitute. A buddy of mine took a chance on me and gave me a job that put me back in the golf business. Only this time, I was sitting on an overheating mower for eight hours a day in 105 degree heat. I actually really liked that job and it made me a more rounded professional later. Anyway, as I was sitting on a fairway mower hallucinating daily from heat sickness and trying to go in a straight line, more often than not, I was spinning this disc in my ancient CD player. I don't know why I didn't get into this band sooner. I think it was primarily because up until this point most of their songs were about smoking dope, which is one thing I've never really been into. This album though was primarily about drinking and fighting, which was a little bit more my speed. This one's a pretty solid punk and hard rock record highlighted by what's become a staple of their live sets the last few years "Pretty Fucked Up," as in "She used to be pretty, but now she's just pretty fucked up." It's a tune that finally made sense to me recently when I reconnected with an old friend. And in a lot of ways almost wish I hadn't. But hell, it's all good. Other awesome tracks on this disk include "Bruises to Prove It," "A Good Night For My Drinkin," and "Sleepy Vampire."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">5. Metallica ~ Load (1996)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Okay, not their best album by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, most people would probably say pretty much every album not named St. Anger (which I actually kinda liked) was better than this one. And I'd be hard pressed to disagree. But for its time and place, namely rolling around in Bryan Wischer's 1982 Buick Regal in the summer of 1996 it's got its moments. Our little gang must have spun this cassette tape at least 1436 times while driving all over the state playing golf, camping and raising hell that summer. It provided a pretty good soundtrack to the last summer before our senior year. My personal favorite song off this one is the closing track "The Outlaw Torn," and was happy to see that song get fully fleshed out on their S &amp; M album three years later. I also dug "The Hero of the Day," "Wasting My Hate," and "King Nothing." During my first Metallica concert, up at Weber State's football field, they were playing "Bleeding Me" when Ben, Nick, Chris and I, ditched our shitty seats, jumped the fence and stormed the pit. Along with about 1000 other heshers. Good times! Although, if I were stranded on a desert island I'd probably pick a different album from my favorite band.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">6. Social Distortion ~ Social Distortion (1990)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I came along pretty late to this band, but was turned on to them by a few of my Metal Sludge brethren. Great old-school punk band that brought a lot of outlaw country influence (at least thematically) to the mix. Most hardcore fans of theirs will point towards Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell and White Light, White Heat, White Trash as better albums, but this album's got probably my favorite three songs of theirs: "Ball and Chain," their cover of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire" and "Story of my Life" which is more or less my theme song nowadays. When I'm announcing games on the PA for Westminster Basketball, I play a lot of varied stuff that you'll rarely hear at any other sporting event, I'm not much of a "jock-jams" guy. But for the last 3:30 of halftime I've made it a custom to spin "Ring of Fire" as the team comes back out to get ready for the second half. When the crowd hears Mike Ness' chugging intro riff to that song, they know it's about time to get rowdy again and will the Griffins to victory.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">7. Anthrax ~ The Sound of White Noise (1993)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just an overall punishing record. When the band ditched Joey Belladonna in favor of Armored Saint's John Bush, they took on a much more serious tone than the goofy punk-infused thrash that they were known for previously. I'm usually not too big a fan when a band starts putting out more serious material. That's usually a good sign that they're becoming a little too full of themselves and are starting to get a little blowhardy. I listen to music primarily to elevate my mood, put a smile on my face, and get me jumping around like a freebasing orangutan. But this album just, plain works. They became more of a straight-up metal band with this record, and you're going to have to travel far and wide to find a better album sonically. My fondest experience listening to this album had to be borrowing my old college roommate's jacked up, top-off Jeep to drive across town one morning my senior year of college. My old Blazer was broken down, and I'd just had my wallet stolen the day before so I was feeling particularly shitty. And I needed to hit the DMV to get a new drivers license. He let me borrow his badass ride, complete with as loud a sound system as you could fit into that little thing, to run that errand. I threw in The Sound of White Noise, cranked it to eleven, and when the first couple blast beats from "Potters Field" kicked in I could literally see the windows on the dorm shake. Awesome. Great release and needless to say, I felt better. Also has the track "Black Lodge" which had one of the weirdest videos ever, directed by David Lynch and starring Jenna Elfman. I just had to sneak that track onto my playlist the day I got to host a four-hour show on the local rock station KBER 101.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">8. Motley Crue ~ Motley Crue (1994)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Not a lot of people outside of the Metal Sludge community don't know about this hidden gem of a record. Hell, a lot of people don't even consider this a proper Motley album due to the band's firing of longtime lead singer, Vince Neil, a couple of years previous. In some ways they have a point, because this almost sounds like a brand new band. Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee and Mick Mars decided to soldier on and tabbed journeyman frontman John Corabi, formerly of a little known but excellent L.A. band called The Scream, to take Vince's place. The song's on this record took a decidedly darker and heavier tone on this album than the typical Motley party anthems that came before it. I'll tell you what though, I don't think Tommy Lee's drumming ever sounded better than it did on this album, and adding Corabi to the mix also added his solid rhythm guitar work as well. So instead of having to do all of the guitar work on the songs that freed up Mick to concentrate solely on the leads giving all of the songs a lot more depth. Corabi's scratchy, blues soaked vocals did turn off a lot of fans used to Vince's cleaner, high pitched wail. I played the hell out of this album back in college, often playing along with it with my own guitar, much to the dismay of my roommates or any dogs that happened to be in the neighborhood at the time. Listened to this record a lot on the driving range warming up for golf tournaments. My own personal favorite tune on this one is "Til Death Do Us Part," but I also like "Hooligan's Holiday," "Smoke the Sky," and "Uncle Jack." Give this one a chance folks, trust me, if after two or three spins you just can't get into it, feel free to call me an asshole.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">9. Alice Cooper ~ Trash (1989)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'd be remiss if I didn't include at least one Alice Cooper album on my list. The guy is hands down, and I will not argue about this, the most original American rock star of all time. And it's a goddamn crime against humanity that he isn't in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame right now while tripe like Steely Dan, and James Taylor is. Unbelievable bullshit. Anyway, I can't just pick a favorite Alice record because, well he's got 32 of them going back to 1967. Over the years, I've managed to acquire all of them and there isn't a shitty one of the bunch. But the Trash album got my foot in the door with the guy. Senior year of high school, on those long debate trips, I was spinning the hell out of that album in my little discman in the back of the bus. Always liked "Poison," the lead track but this disc was loaded with good tunes. "Bed of Nails," "House of Fire" and what's become my favorite over the years, "This Maniac's In Love With You." Alice often credited golf with helping him to finally kick his alcoholism and eventually save his life, and I certainly can relate to that. I can't imagine what kind of mess I'd be right now if I didn't have the game in my life. People need to get wise. Based on his total body of work, both with the original Alice Cooper Band and solo, Alice Cooper is the undisputed heavyweight champion of American rock and roll and it's not even close.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">10. Guns N' Roses ~ Appetite For Destruction (1987)</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lightning in a bottle. One of only a few absolutely perfect albums ever made. And that's a statement backed up by hardcore fans, critics and even people that don't seem to like heavy music all that much. Even they all agree on this one. There isn't a single bit of filler on this record. Just an onslaught. Although songs like "Welcome to the Jungle," "Paradise City," "Night Train," and "Mr. Brownstone" are lyrically about the kind of trouble you can find if you try to "make it" in the big city and fail. Anybody that grew up in my little hometown could find something to relate to here. I didn't know too many kids my age that didn't own this album back home. When my buddy Rob and I went down to Vegas to see the "new" Guns N' Roses a couple of years ago, they ended up playing most of this album. It's now wonder, as much as I like Lies, Use Your Illusion, The Spaghetti Incident?, and even Chinese Democracy, they don't quite measure up to the debut. Lately I've been cranking it whenever "Out Ta Get Me" and "It's So Easy" pop up on the shuffle in my car. But the closing track, "Rocket Queen," I'm convinced, is probably the absolute apex of hard rock. One of my top 5 songs of all time. The whole album still gets regular spins in my car.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Honorable Mention: Prince ~ Purple Rain (Dude played the halftime show of the first Bears Super Bowl in 22 years!), L.A. Guns ~ A Nite on the Strip, Live! (Probably my favorite "hair" metal band), Rob Zombie ~ Hellbilly Deluxe (All of us on the 1997-1999 CEU Golf team played the hell out of this album on trips), Metallica ~ Death Magnetic (Great return to form for the band and has been the soundtrack of the chaos my professional life has been in since September), and a special honorable mention to my buddy Bryan Wischer's famous mix, "The Tape." (The only other cassette that ever seemed to find its way into the deck in his car during the Load summer.)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">How say you folks, what are your "ten albums?" </span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-13567302107979417782009-02-24T00:38:00.006-07:002009-03-02T15:03:46.820-07:00The World Famous Dave Story, a Dorm Days Flashback...<span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >Okay. Some good stuff happened last week, but it's all part of a bigger picture that I don't quite want to spill the beans on yet. But to tide you over until I get that story written, we'll continue the tour of some of my past writing. Here's an eight part story dealing with one of my roommates back in college. I originally published this story back on my old MySpace.com blog three years ago in January of 2006. It made the semifinals of a rather large writing contest that year and got me a little bit of attention. I often said that I'd be telling stories about this kid for the rest of my life, so I figured a few of these stories needed to go down on paper so my often booze soaked brain would never forget them. Strap in, this one is a little long, but there's a good message here. At the time we thought we were making this dude a better </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >guy</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >. It turned out that he made us better </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >people</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:100%;" >. A quick disclaimer, as with all my Dorm Days flashbacks, time, and a couple thousand beers, can make things a little bit fuzzy. This was how I remember things went. If you were around back then and you noticed that I screwed up the details a little bit, let me know!</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br />"The Passion of The Dave"<br /></span></span></span></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >(March - May 2000)</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />I:<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >I awoke from my afternoon nap around 4:30 on Tuesday afternoon on March 28, and wiped the sleep out of my eyes. Suddenly I heard a faint ringing from the apartment's main phone line. This was never a good sign, none of us even knew the number for that phone and every time it rang, something bad was about to happen. Only administration types had that number. I saw the caller ID on the phone; it was the Student Life Director's office, which probably meant we were in trouble again. It had been about a month and a half since the party we had thrown in our dorm apartment, room 302 - The Penthouse of Residence Hall 3. The story of that party will be told at another time, but just so you know, there was fallout involved. Ever since, we felt the ever-watchful eye of the Dean upon all of us. She made it pretty clear to us that she was not to be fucked with.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "Hello?" I picked up the phone.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"This is Britton Bates, Director of Student Life, do you have a minute?"<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />"Yeah no problem, what's up?" I slurred out groggily.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"We have a solution to your roommate problem Mr. Nickas"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I wasn't aware we had a problem."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"You have two empty rooms in your unit and we just found you a new roommate."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Well, the more the merrier, I guess." I replied.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"But there may be some issues," she continued, "He grew up in a troubled home, and lived a sheltered life. We figured down here, that if anybody can crack his shell, it would be you guys."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"So what are you getting at?" I questioned.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />"Listen Nickas, he's suffered through a traumatic childhood, but he's a brilliant student. It was all he had. If you guys can show him a few methods of peer interaction, and try to make him feel a little more normal, it'd go a long way toward smoothing out your reputations with the Dean." She absolutely sledgehammered that last point down. From what I could gather, helping this kid out might buy us a little bit of leeway and get our crew to the end of the semester without getting kicked out of school.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"When is he moving in?" I asked.<br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >"In about three hours."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"And it's a done deal?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Yeah, he'll be there about 7:30."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />I took inventory of the situation. We're getting a new roommate in three hours. There's only one month left in my first school year away from home. Where the hell were the other guys? Junior was at work, Big Nick was down at the weight room, and The Nate was in class. I've got class in a half hour! So I called Junior at work, he was not pleased, but empathized with the situation. He was the new guy just three months previous. On my way down to the cafeteria, I ran into Nate. He was not very hot on the subject to say the least. I grabbed a tray of food and plopped down into a booth where Big Nick, lean protein fanatic, was crushing his post workout meal of a couple of grilled chicken breasts with salsa.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Are we going to make this work?" he asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"We don't have any choice in the matter. She sounded pretty serious on the phone, at least this might get us out of trouble."<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />With everybody warned and ready to roll out the welcome wagon, I cruised to class where I endured an hour and ten-minute lecture on the consequences of the deteriorating European treaty system in the late 1800's and how it eventually led to WWI. Doc Welsh was a fascinating teacher, but this was one of the less interesting lectures he'd given all year and I was chomping at the bit to get back to 302 and figure out a plan.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >7:15 hit and it could not have come soon enough. I was back to the penthouse in a flash. Big Nick and his Tuesday night girl Heather, Nate, Junior, and my girlfriend at the time Jules were all in the kitchen having a drink. They asked me exactly what was said on the phone, so I grabbed a Michelob and relayed the story again. Nobody was thrilled. We all agreed to meet over breakfast in the morning to discuss what we were going to do. Room 302 had been a revolving door since December when Jerry Flynt and the Mormon kid had left. The Dowder had quit school just three weeks ago. We just wanted some stability. But as I grew to learn, stability was a luxury we never were going to enjoy.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />II: </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />There was a knock at the door. I opened it up and found an unruly mop of dandruffed hair staring back at me. He looked up, his Peter Gallagher style eyebrows arched, "I'm David, your new roommate."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Welcome to the club dude! Come on in!" I exclaimed in a manner that didn't exactly convey my true emotions at the time. Dave took one step in the door, caught our doormat in just the wrong way and went flying ass over teakettle, crashing to the floor in a heap! We're talking Chevy Chase as Gerald Ford style here. His little shaving kit burst open, spilling pill bottles all over the kitchen floor.<br /><br />"Holy shit dude! Are you okay? Let me help you," as I started putting the bottles back into his bag. I noticed a few of the names on the prescriptions, Lithium Carbonate, Xanax, Haldol, and penicillin. "Nice cocktail of anti-psychotic, and mood stabilizers," I thought silently, just happy to have remembered any of the shit from Psychology outside of the classroom. I helped him to his feet. "David, this is Big Nick, Doug or as we call him Junior, Nate, Heather, and Jules. I'm Nickas. Anything you need dude, just let us know. Your room is right over there, just don't touch the wire coming out of your wall. It's our cable hookup." Jerry Flynt had a cable TV hookup in his room that they conveniently forgot to shut off. A little creative wiring later, and we all had cable.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Do you need any help carrying anything in bro?" Big Nick offered.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I've got everything in my bag here, but thank you." He said quietly. His whole life was in a little duffel bag and a backpack.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />Everybody sort of separated. Big Nick had to work on a paper so he sent Heather home. The Nate hit the sack. Junior took off to find himself some strange ass, and Jules and I retired to my room to finish our drinks and kick back. About a half hour later, I see Dave walk past my door toward Big Nick's room. For about fifteen minutes there was dead silence. I peered out the door to see Dave staring at Nick while he was typing. Five more minutes go by. Big Nick finally looks up, "What's up buddy?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Thank you." Said Dave creepily, as he slowly turned walked back towards his room. Jules and I finished our wine and said goodnight. I was more than a little nervous and slept with one eye open that night.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />The next morning I met Big Nick and Junior down at the cafeteria. You could tell none of us slept a wink the night before. Where the hell was Nate? As I got up to grab another cup of coffee Nate crashed into our booth looking a little worse for wear. "What the hell happened to you, amigo?" I asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Dude, I'm alone with him on that side of the apartment. He's fuckin' weird, man."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Care to elaborate?" Junior quipped.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "Yeah, this morning I woke up to hear him making noises in the shower. Strange noises. Like the Three Stooges or something, NYUK! NYUK! NYUK! WHOOOO! I don't know what he was doing in there, but it was freaking me out!" Two minutes of masturbation jokes went by and then we finally decided to storm Ms. Bates' office and find out what his deal was. She was less than thrilled to see us, but gave us what information she could. It turned out that he had found his father swinging from a shower rod when he was a small child and grew up with an alcoholic and abusive mother. He had some serious emotional issues growing up. We still weren't sure how we could help, but we figured we would just try to treat him like a normal, everyday Joe. Little did we know, just how tough that would end up being.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />III:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />None of us saw Dave until three days later, until I returned home from my job one afternoon to see him sitting in the living room talking to Annie, our hottie RA. Typical situation for anyone new to the dorms, but a very atypical scene based solely on what he was wearing. That is, he wasn't wearing any pants. All that he had on were just a pair of briefs and a sweater. For the first time since I moved to Salt Lake I did not know what to say. You could tell that Annie was uncomfortable as hell to say the least, but her policy was that she always had time to listen to her residents. She got up to leave looking at me like she had just seen Elvis alive or something, said hello to me and walked out the door. "Everything all right?" I asked, as I snagged a Michelob out of the fridge.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Everything is great." Dave muttered with a goofy look on his face as he went into his room and closed the door.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Well, that wasn't weird or anything." I thought to myself as I threw Anthrax's </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >The Sound of White Noise</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > disc into my stereo and plugged in my guitar.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />IV:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />A few days later, I was alone in the apartment cooking up some Philly cheese steaks in the kitchen and in walks Dave. He was dragging his right leg, which seemed to be encased in some kind of giant full-length splint. "Christ dude, are you okay? What the hell happened?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I just...I just woke up this morning, and my leg felt like it was broken. So my grandmother brought me a brace."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"What did the doctor tell you?" I asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "He said he couldn't find anything wrong. I don't believe him though." Dave replied and walked into his room before I could ask any more nosy questions.<br /><br />I finished plating my sandwich, grabbed a beer and went into my room.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > Five minutes later I hear somebody running past my door, slamming into Big Nick's door, and then running back past mine again down the hallway. I opened the door, peered down towards Nate and Dave's half of the apartment and saw nothing. Ten minutes later, I heard the same thing. Same result, only I heard a door slam on the other half of the apartment. "It sounds like he's running ladders or something." I thought, plucking the strings on my Epiphone. The next day I had two separate conversations with both Big Nick and Junior who had heard the same thing over the course of the previous week. Double weird.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />V:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />The next weekend, I went home to Price for my family's Easter celebration. We typically barbecue a whole lamb on a spit, and make a big party out of it. The local Orthodox priest even joins us, about twenty-five people in all. It is always nice to see everybody, even if it is only once a year. Anyway, that Saturday night, WWF wrestler The Rock, with special musical guests AC/DC hosted Saturday night live. Thinking that it might be a good show, I dialed up The Nate to ask him to hit record on my VCR when the show started.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "I might not be able to." The Nate said quietly over the receiver, almost whispering.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"What's the matter?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "I'm stuck in my room. He's outside my door, wigging out at the mirror."</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"What the hell?" I said, "What is he saying?" I wasn't really buying it, but who knew?</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"He's wearing a jacket with a clip-on tie. Get this though, he is not wearing any pants, just his underwear! He's yelling shit at the mirror like "YOU LOSE! YOU LOSE! YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!"" The Nate started to sound scared. "I'm watching out the peephole in my door. Uh-oh," He stopped.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Nate, what the hell is going on?!"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "I think he saw me. Jesus Christ, my door is shut, but I think he knows I've been watching him. He looked up in the mirror!" The Nate paused momentarily, "I think he just left." He said exhaling.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Okay, keep your door shut and lock it tonight before you go to bed, and if he leaves, hit record on my VCR bro. Just sit tight, I'll be back tomorrow night."I hung up the phone. That episode of SNL was probably the high water mark of that particular era. The Nate managed to hit record in time.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />VI:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />It was two in the morning a week later, Jules and I were curled up under a blanket watching "She's All That" or something equally Prinze-ey. The credits rolled, "I've got to go home. My friend's coming to visit in the morning." She said.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I'll walk ya over there, kiddo." I replied, not sure if I was still asleep or not. As she was putting her shoes back on, I smelled something burning. Like a melted tire. "Christ almighty, what the hell is that?" We creeped down to the end of the hall to the little sliding door that we had taken to shutting lately. This sealed the Big Nick/Junior/Nickas half of the apartment from the main area. I could hear someone milling around in the kitchen so I cracked the sliding door open very quietly and peered into the darkness. There was Dave in his familiar sweater/jockey shorts garb standing in front of the microwave. All I could see was something blue spinning around in there. But the smell was something else entirely. It could strip the varnish off a footlocker! "You better wait a second darlin'." I whispered.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Let me see." She said, poking her head through the sliding door. She pulled back quickly. "Wow. Just...wow. Does he do this all the time?" she asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Naw, this is the first time I've seen this," I said as the eerie blue light emanating from the microwave grew brighter and brighter. By this time, Big Nick and Junior had joined us in the hallway. And all four of us were quietly watching the scene unfold. Dave started rummaging through the utensil drawer.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Shit! He's using my tongs!" Big Nick hissed.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />Dave used the tongs to remove some kind of smoky, dark mass the size of a softball out of the microwave. The smell threatened to knock us all over. He dropped it into a little black bag, zipped it up and shuffled down his and Nate's hallway, quietly closing the door. We collectively exhaled and made our way into the common area. Suddenly Nate slipped out of his room in his blue bathrobe, wild look in his eyes. "I told you he was crazy! You assholes thought I was nuts, but what do you call that?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Pretty weird." Was all I could muster as I walked Jules across the floor hallway to her room and gave her a kiss goodnight. We never did find out what the blue thing was.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />VII:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />Junior was sitting in his room typing up a paper on his laptop one afternoon. In shuffles Dave. "Doug, do you have any scissors that I could borrow?" he asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I don't, but ask Nickas, he might have some." Junior said, probably wary to give him any sharp objects.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />I overheard this and dug through my shoebox full of school supplies. I did not have any decent scissors, but I managed to come across a pair of those shitty rounded safety scissors from the fucking third grade. "I know they suck bro, but will these work?" I asked as he came into my room.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Thank you." He muttered quietly as he walked away toward his and The Nate's half of the apartment.<br /><br />About half an hour later I heard the main door close. Dave must have taken off to get some chow or something.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > Nate soon came home from work. The guy had started to get a little less personable over the last month or so. Dave's antics were obviously a little too much for him and seemed to be wearing him down little by little. Nate obviously saw shit that none of the rest of us had, but was reluctant to talk about it. I think the episode with the mirror really fucked with his head. And he was clearly agitated that he had to deal with it after he paid $20,000 a year just to attend the school.<br /><br />"You guys! Get in here and check this out!" he hollered. Junior and I grabbed our beers and cruised down the hallway. In the bathroom sink, there was a large pile made up of clumps of hair of varying length. My shitty ass scissors lay on the floor. Dave had given himself a haircut.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />VIII:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />I arrived home from class a few days later to find Dave in my room perusing my CD collection. I had an open door policy with my room. If you wanted to borrow a disc or a movie or something, feel free. Just let me know when you see me. He looked up as I walked in. "What's up buddy?" I asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"You have quite a strange collection. Of music." He said quietly. I had everything from some Johnny Cash gospel albums to Morbid Angel in there. Kind of contradictory, but I like it. "Some of this is, well, kind of Satanic. You're not into the occult or anything are you?" He looked almost scared holding my copy of Slayer's </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >Seasons in the Abyss</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >. Having had this same conversation with my grandmother the previous summer, I patiently explained to him that it was all an act, they did not really worship Satan and neither did I. Hell, I was a Christian, just not necessarily of the fire and brimstone type.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I just like the guitar work." I said.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Oh, you play guitar?" He spied my shitty little Epiphone Strat sitting in the corner.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I just like to dick around with it a little bit, I'm really not any good." I said laughing. "I straight up suck! You play?" I asked.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"A little, but I haven't played in a long time." He said.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Well here, strap it on dude." I handed him my axe and kicked the power button on my shitty little Peavey amp. Next thing I know, he's laying down a bitchin' little bluesy guitar solo!</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "Dude, where'd you learn how to do that!?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"My grandpa played a little bit for me when I was a kid. I only know that one." He said, turning red in the face. "Nickas, can I ask you a question?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"I'm all ears bro, what's on your mind?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Do the other guys hate me?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > I was a little taken aback. "No, nobody hates you David, but to be totally honest, you have made us a little bit nervous from time to time." I said honestly. </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" > "How so?"</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" >"Well..." and I kind of laid out some of the stuff that had happened over the last month. "Now listen" I told him, "I'm trying not to be judgmental or anything because maybe it's just your shtick, but some of this stuff might be seen by a lot of people as, well a little strange. At first everybody was a little weirded out, but now we're kind of concerned." </span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />"Sometimes my medicine makes me kinda black out and I don't know what's going on. I'm sorry about that."<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />"I've been meaning to ask you about that bro. Now I know it's none of my business, but my textbook says some of that shit shouldn't be mixed together. You might want to narrow it down to one doctor who knows his shit and can take care of ya." He nodded in agreement. "And trust me," I added, "If we didn't care about you, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation. If you live in this unit, you're one of the family. We're all a little bit fucked up in here. Hell, I think that is why they put us all together. We just don't want to see you getting hurt. And for god sakes, next time you need a haircut let me know and I'll loan ya $20, leave that to the pros!"<br /></span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />That was the first time I'd seen Dave laugh since he moved in. I shook his hand, and told him that for the next week, if he was not sure about his response to a certain situation, to not be afraid to ask what to do. And he definitely took us up on it. We even got him to lob his first middle finger at some asshole in the cafeteria! For the first time in his life, he was just one of the guys.</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br /><br />Epilogue:</span><span style=";font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ><br />A week later we all went our separate ways for the summer. None of us are really sure what happened to Dave. But I heard from a fairly reliable source that his grandpa had passed on and left him a rather sizeable inheritance. Dave was no longer crazy. He was eccentric! I ran into him recently on the train ride home from work one day. He still had the unibrow, but he looked anything but the disheveled outcast we knew back in the days of Dorm Apartment 302. He even had a steady job working at a little watering hole downtown, not that he has to work anyway. He said he just liked being around people. I learned a lot from that kid, and I am glad to see he is doing okay. </span> </span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-18614352298241974792009-02-22T23:36:00.007-07:002009-02-23T00:11:31.249-07:00Flashing back a few years...<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Okay, this first one is from a few years ago. This is the first time that I ever really described in writing one of the two main reasons why I love the game as much as I do. I'm not the most religious guy in the world, but I definitely felt something otherworldly. Or maybe the wind finally quit blowing down there, who knows?</span><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Confessions of a NyQuil Addicted, Hard Rocking, Golf Pro From Hell Part 2:</span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">(Originally published on the old blog back in November of 2005)<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">It's been a really weird year. Financially, it's been decent, but I'm still barely above water. Like idiots, my sister and I re-upped for another year in our apartment. It's the kind of place that I'm pretty sure any building inspector worth their salt would probably condemn on the spot. Our landlord is a total asshat. But the location is too convenient to leave. I worked pretty hard on fixing things up inside and trying to make it nice. But the end result is a beautiful crumbling mess. It'll get better. </span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Business was pretty good this year. Shop work was pretty much the same as it always is, but despite being crippled by a no-compete lesson policy that prohibits me from advertising my rates, I've actually made a few new lesson clients this year and have really improved as a swing teacher. Hell, I even taught a semester of an actual "for-credit" golf class, which probably makes me the worst former college student on record ever to actually teach for a major university. Da Professah! I even managed to win a few bucks in tournaments this year, although I was a major under-achiever in that department. </span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Now on to the meat and potatoes of this episode of "Confessions." I recently returned from a weekend getaway to Las Vegas with some folks I met on my vacation last year out in Hollywood. Had a hell of a great time out there with the Cracker, Nate, Cross, Gray, Desiree, and Renee. Drank more than should be legal, lit some cash on fire playing the slots, and made one of the greatest blackjack comebacks of all time to come out ahead a whole dollar! Saw the shark aquarium at the Madalay and some Muay Thai Kickboxing which was some brutal shit. May the Westward Ho rest in pieces. Their $2 margarita was quite simply the greatest liquor value known to man. It was kind of refreshing to be able to walk around on the street with a drink, compared to Utah where you can only drink in a basement with the lights turned off. The Bears won and I still lost my bet. But it's little sacrifices like using my shitty luck to propel them to victory that make a playoff contender! The Fremont Street Experience was the freakin' bombola! </span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The last time I visited Sin City was waaaaay back in December of 1996! That was the last time my family ever took a road trip/vacation together. On that trip, I was kind of in my "retreat inside myself" phase so I pretty much wandered the strip by myself or with my buddy Curtis the whole trip. Pausing only to eat breakfast and dinner with my family, I had a damn good time. Even won a couple small jackpots. Much like now, I looked a hell of a lot older than I was. Hell, I was just a senior in high school! As an icing on the cake, I returned home to find out I was seemingly the only person in the whole debate club that wasn't suspended that week due circumstances surrounding what ended up being pretty much the only tournament weekend I didn't attend in two years! Funny shit!</span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Unfortunately, I've got some serious regrets about that trip. Little did I know, my family was crumbling all around me, and my ass was just too much of a space cadet to realize it. This was probably the last opportunity I would ever have to have some quality time with my sister, mother, and father all together. Three months later, my mom split town on us and threw my life into a tailspin. It seemed like everything I had ever believed in my life was now bullshit. For awhile I completely withdrew from everything, save for a small group of friends and my dad. At first I was bitter, and pissed off, throwing blame around like any ignorant teenager probably would. </span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Then one day, the following summer I was out by myself playing golf at good ol' Carbon Country Club. As was typical at the time I was thinking about what a mess I was. It was late in the day, right around dusk, and the course down home seemed completely deserted. I striped my tee shot down 18 and walked to my ball. When I reached my ball, I had a good look around and something weird happened. I noticed the grass was the most beautiful shade of green I'd ever seen. The sand in the trap seemed pearl white, even though it was the same shitty sand we'd always had. The clouds in the sky looked to be on fire as the little remaining light cast what seemed to be the air around me in the most surreal shade of blue. The scene gave me pause, and then for the first time a sense of total calmness came over me as all the chaos and strife in my life seemingly lifted away. It was almost like someone or something else was there standing next to me letting me know that everything was going to be all right. Then I stepped up to my ball, and shanked it straight into the weeds. But you know what, I didn't care, because I was in a good state of mind. Things were going to be all right. </span></p> <p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Now, in the years since, I've certainly had some ups and downs. But ever since that day I've been chasing that feeling again. That's kept me around golf more than any reason. Just so there's a chance I might feel that indescribable presence and feeling of calm again. I'm telling you it felt better than any over the counter, prescription drug or liquor I've ever had. Who knows what it was, but I'd love to feel it again just one more time.</span></p><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SaJJ2oYfG9I/AAAAAAAAAB4/xnja1TgXtMc/s1600-h/blackjack_small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SaJJ2oYfG9I/AAAAAAAAAB4/xnja1TgXtMc/s320/blackjack_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305884513897749458" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">The Great Westward Ho Blackjack Comeback of 2005</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">L-R Alan, Nate, The Golf Monster, Cracker</span></span><br /></div><p style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></p>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-9773391438112812412009-02-22T23:19:00.003-07:002009-02-22T23:26:18.557-07:00Been awhile...<span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Folks! Sorry it's been so long. Been kind of a weird Winter and as soon as I'm able, I can't wait to let you know what's been going on. Got some big changes coming up for me professionally, and I'm both nervous and a little excited. I promise some regular, new material on this site very soon. So, to tide you all over, I'm going to import all of my old writing over to this site over the next couple weeks. If you've seen it before, I hope it's still as good. If you're just stumbling across this stuff due to my incessant whoring over on the Facebook page, please let me know what you think! Thanks!</span></span>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-39409526821759670742008-10-30T19:39:00.001-06:002013-02-20T22:25:20.301-07:00This week's "Dorm Days" Flashback!<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: &quot;; font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">In light of my last post on my new job as the new Associate Head Coach for Men’s and Women’s Golf at Westminster College, I figured that I’d dig up an old entry from my old blog over on myspace.com.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">So this’ll be my first “Dorm Days Flashback” for the new site.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">I’m pretty far removed from the guy I was back in 2000, although I can understand why some might think that my new coaching gig might be a “fox in charge of the henhouse” kind of idea.</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;">Anyhow, enjoy this “Dorm Days Flashback”… </span><o:p></o:p></span></span> <br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"The Wacky World of College Athletics"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">(October 2000)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Now, during my years at Westminster, I did a lot more than drinking, raising hell with the fellas up in room 302, getting yelled at while working for the basketball team, and occasionally attending class. I also competed as I did at both the high school and junior college levels on the varsity golf team. Golf on the college level was much different than it was back in high school. You played a practice round on Sunday, followed by a thirty six-hole marathon session on Monday and then a final eighteen holes on Tuesday. No carts either, it was all on foot. Four of your teams' individual scores comprised your team score. There were kids in a lot better shape than I was literally crying in pain after the Monday rounds. College golf was more of a physical and mental endurance test than it was based solely on skill. But the trips themselves were a nice chance to get away from all the pressures of college life and decompress. Well, they usually were, but here is one example of a trip that did not exactly go as expected.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I had just turned 22 years old and was the old man of a pretty green group of men and women college golfers. You had the innocent, church going folks in T-Sick, The Juice, and Meg, Bradford the rocket scientist, a savvy and highly touted freshman player in Rache, Brightie the private school princess with a wild streak, and a stereotypical redheaded kid in Loony Zack. And then there was Golf Girl. Ahhh yes, Golf Girl, a kind of goofy, but drop dead gorgeous 6-handicapper transfer student from Idaho State. She was a total knockout with an unbelievable swing to boot. She was just what the doctor ordered for this old, rotten bastard to finally put my failed relationship with Jules behind me and move on. She was any serious golfers dream girl. And we were about to embark in a five day van trip to Billings, Montana to wrap up the Fall-half of the Frontier Conference golf season. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Coach DP thought it would be a nice idea if we left a day earlier than what was typical. We took off from Westminster on Saturday morning so we could spend a relaxing day seeing the sights in beautiful Yellowstone National Park. I was especially excited because I hadn’t been up to Yellowstone since I was in the 9<sup>th</sup> grade. Outside of the mountains in Alaska I have always thought that our nation’s first national park was the most beautiful place on Earth. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">As bleary as I felt that morning, my mind was still sharp as we played a little game during the drive using Trivial Pursuit cards. We split into two teams, if your team could answer all six questions on a card, you earned a point. I scored the first point of the day answering a question regarding Yankee pitchers Mike Kekich and Fritz Peterson swapping wives before the 1973 season. "Only Nickas would know something like that." Coach grumbled as he honked the horn displeased that his team was now down 1-0. Ten of us, crammed into a fifteen passenger van with all of our equipment. It almost felt like family.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">We pulled into West Yellowstone early in the afternoon and received our room assignments. The girls were all stuffed into one unit, and the guys ended up divided by, well, cultural lines. T-Sick and the Juice doing their bible study, while Bradford, I and Loony Zack piled into a room. Now, Loony Zack's shtick was, well, he made everybody a little nervous. He had transferred to Westminster from Dixie College, where one of my old Junior College coaches at Eastern Utah had taken a job a year earlier. The kid was what we call in the team golf world, a horse. Always came through with a solid round no matter what. He was what you would think would be the ideal teammate. And from a purely competitive standpoint he was. But there was also something a little bit off about the kid. He would wear these clear sunglasses that magnified his eyes as he stared at you. He also had a nice little habit of getting just a little too close to you when he would talk to you. He wasn't exactly standing on your toes or anything, but he was just close enough to make you uncomfortable. That was when he talked which he didn't do very often. Mostly he would sit on the back bench of the van chanting along to his latest trance-music CD. I would wager to say that at least 90 percent of the team thought he was some kind of a serial killer or something. I was pretty much the only guy that was not scared shitless about rooming with the guy. I thought it was hilarious. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Bradford, who may have been psychic or something based on what happened later asked me if I would be offended if he roomed with the other guys. He had a huge physics exam when we got back into town and wanted to spend his off-course time studying. This left me alone with Zack. "No problem at all bro," I said, "but I think it would be a good idea if you went to the park with the rest of us today. You know, get to know everybody a little better." I just wanted the whole team together. Build some unity. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Sounds like it might be some fun," he replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">We drove into Yellowstone and cruised to my personal favorite feature of the park, the Norris Geyser Basin. Norris is a wide valley full of hot springs, low clouds, bubbling geysers of many beautiful colors and herds of bison walking around. We hiked along the wooden trail, checking out and taking pictures of one of the widest actively volcanic areas in the country. I sat down on a bench as one of the biggest buffalo I have ever seen walked no more than ten feet away from me. Goddamn I love nature! Of course, no trip to Yellowstone is complete without a stop at Old Faithful where we wrapped up our afternoon as I snapped our unofficial team photograph right in front of the world famous geyser. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Back in West Yellowstone, the team split up for dinner, T-Sick, Bradford and The Juice hit a diner with Coach, while the rest of the squad and myself took up residence at a local bar and grille. Something about a gigantic buffalo steak and a couple of cool brews with my teammates made me put school and the hijinks of Room 302 behind me. At the time, I was all about putting on a good show to impress the girl. I would get kind of loud and a little obnoxious, kind of like Vince Vaughn as Double-Down Trent in Swingers. I was putting on a show tonight! Pretending that I knew a damn thing about the one or two rotguts on the wine list, and trying to be semi-refined, but acting like a know-it-all jackass, I was an idiot. But Golf Girl seemed to dig it. I knew she was a good girl, and your typical Utah cultural issues doomed any hopes I might have had, but dammit, I had fallen for this girl. Eventually the beers mellowed me out a little bit, and we had a nice conversation once the food arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">We finished dinner and walked back to the hotel. Zack, Brightie and I stopped along the way at the local grocery store. Now for those who don’t know, in Utah our beer selection is pretty sparse. And it is a weak 3.2 percent ABV to boot. So I always made sure to take an extra large clothes bag on these golf trips in order to bootleg some of the good stuff back to Utah. Stuff like that sweet golden elixir known as Alaskan Amber. While at the store Zack and Brightie picked up some items and I snagged two cases of my favorite sweet, sweet microbrew. We got back to the hotel where I left my contraband by the back door as I was not sure the prying eyes of Coach needed to see anything like that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I finally got the stuff up to the room and was packing it away into my clothes bag when Loony Zack suddenly appeared about three inches from my face. "Hey, man." He asked quietly, "Brightie and I are hitting the hot tub. You want to join us man?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Naw dude," I said taking a step back, "I'm just going to take a bath in some Icy-Hot and hit the sheets. My knee is killing me." I was out of shape, unless round is a shape.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Oh. Hey man." He got in close again, "Can we borrow some of your beer, man?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Knock yourself out dude. I'll catch ya in the morning." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">After a nice long bath, I felt relaxed enough to hit the sack. I made the rounds to my teammates rooms wishing them all a good night. My old ass was like the team dad or something. I wanted to be a leader so bad, sometimes I overdid it. I went back to the room, flipped on the television and cracked a beer. Nothing was on, except the Bruce Willis/Ben Affleck vehicle Armageddon. Not the greatest movie of all time, but a nice chance to see my future ex-wife Liv Tyler looking as stunning as ever. As they were drilling the asteroid, I passed out. It was 12:30 in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I am a shitty sleeper, so when my eyes opened and saw the clock still read 2:30 am I was not too surprised. I rolled over and was welcomed with a sight somewhat common on your average rock band's tour bus, but not seen pretty much ever in my traveling career. There on the bed next to mine, were Loony Zack and Private School Princess Brightie knockin' the boots! And what was that on top of the television? Yup, it was Loony Zack’s mini-camcorder, and the red recording light was definitely on. Holy shit! Those two crazy bastards are making their own homemade porno in here! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Now, here I was, faced with a decision. What do you do in this kind of situation? I kind of had to take a whiz, but obviously for them anyway, there was a beautiful moment going on, and who am I to screw it up? I had no aspirations of becoming a movie star anytime soon either. And those two had kind of been putting on that whole Woody Harrelson/Juliette Lewis "Natural Born Killers" vibe all afternoon, listening to their trance and Fugazi discs. There was that off chance that if I interrupted, I may be the unsuspecting victim of some kind of ritualistic blood orgy or some shit. Who knows? All this shit was running through my head as I shut my eyes and tried like hell to fall back asleep. The last things I heard between the moaning and grunting as the NyQuil kicked back in and I drifted back to slumber was Brightie whispering to Loony Zack, "Isn't it kind of weird, with somebody else in the room?" <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Yeah man. It’s kind of a turn-on, man." Zack replied. He really did talk like that ALL of the time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">I woke up the next day, and sauntered down to breakfast. I was nibbling at my toast and pounding coffee when the remainder of the girl’s team nearly knocked the table over sitting down. The inquisition began. "Brightie never came back to the room last night, what happened?" "Was it her and Zack?" "What happened?" Over and over again they asked the same question as I stared blankly into my coffee cup. I finally looked up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Ladies, put two and two together and subtract me because I didn’t have anything to do with what those two did last night."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"You mean they...?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"I'd rather not talk about it," I said as I nodded my head and took another sip of coffee. “Let’s just say that was possibly one of the weirdest fucking nights I’ve ever had." They knew my reputation and got the message. If I thought it was strange, it would probably be traumatic to most god-fearing people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Something about that night kind of took my head out of things that weekend. I played a hell of a practice round, my best round of the year actually that day, a 6-under par 66 at the Peter Yegen Golf Club in Billings. I had high hopes going into the tournament. Coach must have had a losing night playing cards with the other coaches the night before, because suddenly there were all five of us guys crammed into one room. No way Zack would be nuts enough to try it again with and extra four guys stuffed into the room. But who knows? I fell asleep not feeling right at all. Must have been something I ate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">The tournament started the next day, I warmed up great and managed solid pars on the first two holes when it hit. It felt like I was being repeatedly kicked in the gut. I barely made it to the bushes when the vomit started to flow. Yup, it was food poisoning. I was on hole-three of thirty-six for the day and I could barely stand. This wasn't going to be a good day at all. Pretty much every other hole we played, I would honk in the weeds. We finished the first 18 and as we were checking our cards I was shocked to see I had managed a 73. I signed my card and handed it to Montana-Western's coach who handed me a bag lunch in exchange. The second that turkey-on-a-roll hit my gut it was on its way back up again. We still had 18 holes to play, and I had no way to refuel. "You okay man?" Western's coach asked as I shook my head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"How's my score matched up with my teammates so far?" I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Yours is the second lowest round carded on your team," he replied. "One of your guys got D-Q’d though. Are you sure you’re going to make it?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Got no choice now, if we don’t post a tournament score, we can’t go to the Regional. Going to have to gut this one out." I wish I had felt as confident as I wanted to sound. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br />Round-two wasn’t much better than round one. Although about six holes in, I was able to keep a little cone-cup of water down. My drives were getting weaker, my vision was blurry. I felt like I was turning into a 90 year old man. Montana-Western's coach rolled up again about eleven holes in to the round and stuck a bottle of Gatorade from his team's own stash into my bag. "Just try it, see if you can keep it down. Some of the other coaches and I are taking bets on if you're going to finish." <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"How are my odds?" I asked weakly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Well, I'm pretty much the only one banking on ya."<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"What does my coach think?"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"Don’t know. Nobody’s seen him since the first round." He replied.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen hide or hair of my own coach since the driving range that morning. Glad to see he cared. Maybe I should have played for Montana-Western. "I’m so taking this program over after I graduate!" I thought as I took down a baby-swallow of Gatorade.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">We finally hit the eighteenth hole of the round and thirty-sixth hole of the day. And I had to take a knee to tee the ball up. At that point I felt so weak; I could barely hit the ball across the street. I popped the ball out into the fairway. Thankfully it was a short hole and I only had about 140 yards in. By then a small crowd of about thirty already finished players was surrounding the green. I embarrassingly grabbed a 6-iron out of the bag. Ordinarily that was way too much club for this shot, but in my condition, this was barely going to get there. I swung the club back and threw my hands at the ball. Thinned the piss out of it. That ball barely got three feet off of the ground and landed about twenty yards off the green. Surprisingly, it bounced forward, nearly rolling off the back of the green and left me with about a 45 foot putt back to the front-left hole location. Two putts to go and I can finally lie down. The other two guys in my group, Chad from Rocky Mountain and Colt from Carroll had both knocked wedges to inside four feet. I could barely see the damn hole from that far away. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Golf Girl in the crowd. I was suddenly overcome by a familiar feeling of calm. Good lord she was beautiful. "Man up dude! Just get it close." I thought as I jabbed at the ball. "Aw hell!" I hollered, as I saw the ball burn a trail to the hole, "that better hit it, or it’s off the fuckin’ green!" Maybe it heard me, because next thing I knew my ball slammed into the back edge of the cup, hopped in the air a little bit and then settled at the bottom of the hole as a collective shriek went up in the crowd, which to my blurry eyes and ringing ears, looked and sounded like Sunday at Augusta. I staggered forward to snag my ball out of the hole, but Chad from Rocky already had it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">"You are the toughest son-of-a-bitch I've ever met." He said as he handed me my ball. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">We sat down at the scorer’s table to sign our cards, when I finally realized after adding up the numbers I had shot a 1-under par 70. My pen had barely finished autographing the scorecard when I blacked out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">The next day I felt a lot better, but could not get the putter to work. I struggled to a 76. But I had still managed one of my best three round tournament scores in years. Not that I really cared, I was just happy to hold my lunch down. Unfortunately my coach wasn't as impressed. He came up to me while I was happily crushing some Taco Johns with my teammates. "Nickas, if you would have shot 74 today, we would have taken 2<sup>nd</sup> place. I’m going to need better scores from you down the road." He said matter-of-factly and walked out of the restaurant. Dude couldn’t have saved it for his office when we got home. If we weren't 700 miles from home, I would have throttled him right there. Let’s just say things were a little cold between coach and me for a long time after that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">The ten hour ride home was long and quiet. Where things were jovial a few days earlier, everybody kind of did their own thing. While Juice and T-Sick read their prayer books, Zack and Brightie shared a blanket in the back giggling. Bradford and Rache studied physics and Meg and Coach talked basketball. I slipped my copy of Alice Cooper’s Hey Stoopid into my Discman and did some thinking. "Am I just spinning my wheels here? Is this even worth it anymore?" Then I looked over at Golf Girls sleeping head next to me. "Are you kidding," I thought, "this weekend was the time of my life!"<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Since that was the final trip of the fall, we all kind of went our separate ways for the winter. Zack and Brightie broke up something like three days later and nobody ever heard from them again. They did not return the next semester. T-Sick and The Juice both went on church missions, so I never got the chance to play with them again. Coach stuck around for a few more years before moving on to bigger and better things. After the events of that weekend, I figured I had absolutely nothing to lose. I had seen it all so I worked up the gumption to ask Golf Girl out to the homecoming ball. But that is a story for another day.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Here's a photo of that team:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQpfCgAb9LI/AAAAAAAAABI/rFoa1oMVSa4/s1600-h/My+college+golf+team.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263123611091989682" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQpfCgAb9LI/AAAAAAAAABI/rFoa1oMVSa4/s320/My+college+golf+team.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 238px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a></span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Back Row: Meg, Brightie, Golf Girl, Rache, Coach DP, Bradford, Juice</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">Front Row: Loony Zack, The Golf Monster, T-Sick</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: &quot;; font-size: 12;"><br /></span></div>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8827663845602979613.post-692768003022348542008-10-30T00:14:00.003-06:002013-02-20T22:28:21.476-07:00Coach Nickas! I kinda like the sound of that...<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">Earlier this past summer I received a phone call from an old college acquaintance She had heard about some golf classes that were being offered by our alma mater, Westminster College; and was wondering if I was the one they had tabbed to teach them. I wasn't even aware they were teaching classes down there. Now, I do teach some classes at the University of Utah, but up until that point, I was completely unaware that Westminster was offering any classes. Three days later I got a call from the Athletic Director from Westminster asking if I'd like to go to lunch and discuss a few things. I'd been working during the winters as a public address announcer for the basketball teams ever since I got out of school and I assumed that they were going to talk to me about teaching some of their golf classes.</span><span style="font-size: 85%;">So we sat down and talked a little about basketball, and how awesome the teams are going to be this year when we were joined by the women's basketball coach, JD. He'd also been the men's and women's golf coach on the side ever since my old college coach, Coach DP quit. The team had recently risen up to become pretty successful, placing 2nd at the NAIA regional tournament just 2 years ago. So imagine my surprise when he said that he wanted to scale back his involvement in the golf program and concentrate on basketball full time. I asked him why, and he replied, "Because we think you can get them to the next level." Without any kind of a formal interview or application or anything, they offered me a coaching job. I don't even think they got the actual sentence out before I said I'd do it.</span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /><!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">The hitch though, I didn't exactly inherit that awesome team from a couple of years ago. In fact, only two players from that Men’s team remained, and they were both graduating in December. There were only three returning ladies from last year’s women’s team! We actually had to do an on-campus recruiting drive to fill the rosters! It was not exactly a moment that most of the big-time programs have to deal with. Anyway, we managed to find five more guys that could shoot reasonably well for that side of things, but the women's team is a different story altogether. 5 out of the 8 gals on the roster had absolutely no competitive experience whatsoever! And 4 of those had been playing for 4 months or less. I always had a desire to coach the program, and I’ve been pining away for the gig for years, but in every vision I've ever had I was inheriting an established team. They were asking me to basically build the thing from scratch and we had less than 1 month until our first tournament at Montana Tech.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">To top it off, I didn't quit my Assistant Pro job at the University of Utah, I've been doing both. But what that meant was that every moment I wasn't in the shop or teaching private lessons, I was basically teaching the bulk of my team how to play golf. Which is a gargantuan task compared to just making a few swing tweaks. But for a solid month, those kids worked their asses off, probably slacking off on their studies to learn how to play the game properly. They practiced hard almost every day and I put my social and professional life on hold to get them ready. They were primed to take on the world, and as we rode the same bus I never thought I'd ever thought I'd ride again six years ago, I couldn't help but beam with pride.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">So they competed, and I coached my ass off. In fact, I seemed to be about the only coach that was out on the course with the players. I had always hated the fact that I rarely ever saw my coach out on the course, so I made it a point to spend at least a hole per round with every one of my kids. Actually I pretty much decide that my coaching strategy was to do pretty much everything the opposite of what he would’ve done. While the other coaches were holed up in the clubhouse watching football, "waiting for scorecards" I was out reading putts, getting yardages and delivering snacks and drinks for the kids. And the end result of my awesome coaching job? The Men took 7<sup>th</sup> out of 9 teams and the women took 8<sup>th</sup> out of 9 teams after the first tournament.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">That was pretty punishing to the old ego. There was one bright spot, one of my guys won the individual! But overall I was kinda down on myself. But then I remembered the words of my old Junior College coach, the only coach I've ever really gotten along with, when he said, "you can't hit the shots for them." I flashed back to when I was in school and how I never really felt like I played up to my potential because of the weight that class, work and relationships had on my mind. And I realized that those kids were going through the exact same stuff that I was going through a few years ago. So on that long-ass bus ride home from Butte, Montana, I talked to the kids about what they felt that I was doing right, and what they thought I could do better. Together, we kind of re-designed our practice sessions to make them more efficient, and by the end of the ride home we were talking about just about everything BUT golf. Damn, I felt like I was back in college again!</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">The next week the men managed to improve by one spot in the standings, and while the ladies didn't move up, they dropped a full ten shots off their stroke average as a team! And the following week, at the Rocky Mountain Invitational, at the Peter Yegen Club in Billings, MT, they gave me what might be my finest hour as a golf pro. Going into the last round at the same course I once littered with vomit (see tomorrow’s “Dorm Days” flashback story for the full skinny), the men trailed the hated Carroll College by nine shots for 5th place (the top-4 teams are unbelievably loaded this year). Carroll had been taking us out behind the woodshed all season long, and had been doing a fair amount of shit-talking along the way. I really wanted to beat those guys, so I gave a couple of the guys my first f-bomb laden pep talk of the season. I was trying to channel Al Pacino from "Any Given Sunday" but sounded so ridiculous that we were all cracking up! It must've loosened them up a little bit because those guys ended up breaking one of my old teams' single day scoring records, 4-under par as a team! We also edged Carroll by twelve shots on the day and 3 for the tournament! The ladies, well it's not important where they placed, but out of the fifteen rounds (3 apiece) that the 5 team members played, there were 8 personal best rounds recorded! Their team average was now down by 30 shots better than the 1st tournament. Pretty insane! I don't even think they realize how proud of them that I am.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: trebuchet ms; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">The Fall college golf season has concluded, but it picks back up in the Springtime. But unlike in previous years, I'm not going to break this team up. We're going to keep working at it through playing and practice until the snow flies, and I’m going to try to hire a trainer to write them up a weightlifting and cardio program for when there's snow on the ground so we can hit the ground running come April. I'm also setting to work on recruiting, which is something I've never done before. It's out of control, but I've got to say, the last two months have easily been the most rewarding of my entire career and maybe my entire life.. Our Sports Information Director is a little swamped, so our team website hasn't been updated in a hell of a long time, but here's an article about us. It's a .pdf file so it might take a few minutes to download. Scroll down to page 6:</span><span style="font-size: 12;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.westminstercollege.edu/pdf/forum/Issue%204.pdf" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size: 85%;">http://www.westminstercollege.edu/pdf/forum/Issue%204.pdf</span></a> <span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Here's a few photos of myself and some of the kids from this past fall season:</span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlIHhhoSWI/AAAAAAAAAAo/hvbbjW36FZs/s1600-h/On+The+Bus.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262816933654841698" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlIHhhoSWI/AAAAAAAAAAo/hvbbjW36FZs/s320/On+The+Bus.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;">The team stuffed into a little bus (a short bus if you will) on our first trip</span></span><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlKm55ylwI/AAAAAAAAAA4/n0Uz8GpWit0/s1600-h/Nick+Cruz+and+Coach+Nickas.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262819671797831426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlKm55ylwI/AAAAAAAAAA4/n0Uz8GpWit0/s320/Nick+Cruz+and+Coach+Nickas.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms; font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Throwing out a little encouragement to one of our men's team, Nick Cruz</span></span><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlL5gsIwtI/AAAAAAAAABA/Fx-v_ZH-TGM/s1600-h/Jesika+Hilton+and+Coach+Nickas+2.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262821090958820050" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_p86oQPZgkkg/SQlL5gsIwtI/AAAAAAAAABA/Fx-v_ZH-TGM/s320/Jesika+Hilton+and+Coach+Nickas+2.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 85%;">Discussing a little strategy with one of my ladies, Jesika Hilton</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 85%;">Go Griffins!</span></span></div><br /><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v74/Nickasinsaltlick/Westminster_golf.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v74/Nickasinsaltlick/Westminster_golf.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 62px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 374px;" /></a></span></div></div>Nickas!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04097270523968787259noreply@blogger.com0